


more at stake

by avalanches



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalanches/pseuds/avalanches
Summary: Doyoung asks Johnny for a favour. Johnny should have known that something was up.Doyoung asks many questions, but he never asks for favours. Especially not from Johnny.The problem is this: Johnny can never say no to Doyoung.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 162
Kudos: 435





	1. habits that i cannot break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parayeet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parayeet/gifts).



> remember when ao3 user avalanches said that she will never write a multichapter fic? yeah, about that. 
> 
> this idea actually came from [lily](http://twitter.com/ao3parayeet). tldr: one day, she suggested a fic exchange. for some reason, i agreed. we gave each other three prompts to choose from. i picked one, i wrote the first chapter in a zone in the middle of the night. and this is the result. 
> 
> p.s. if you know/figure out where the fic and chapter title are from, drop it in the comments if you want to. 
> 
> p.p.s. to lily, enjoy :D

At some points in his life, Johnny wonders how he got there. 

Usually, he credits it to bad decisions, usually made when drunk. Like back then during freshman year, he had taken five shots in a row with only half a burrito in his stomach, decided to agree to Ten’s taunts to get a tattoo on his lower back which had hurt like crap even with all the alcohol in his system. He had woken up on the floor of Doyoung’s bedroom, head pounding from a crazy hangover, and proceeded to not remember _that_ particular bad decision until he had accidentally slammed his side against Doyoung’s sink. 

Doyoung had watched it all gleefully from his kitchen counter, steaming mug in hand, smug smile stuck on his face as Johnny had rushed out of his bathroom screaming his head off in panic. He had proceeded to let Johnny yell his lungs out in his tiny kitchen, finishing off half of his morning tea in slow measured gulps before turning on his stove and asking Johnny whether he wanted pancakes for breakfast and coffee to go along with it. 

Johnny had said yes. He always says yes. He could never say no to Doyoung. 

In hindsight, _that_ is probably the reason for this particular bad decision. Kim fucking _Doyoung_. 

Johnny stares mutely at the ceiling painted a muted eggshell colour, finding a random tiny scrape that had somehow ended up in the right corner furthest from him. The sunlight is streaming across the floor of the large bedroom, ( _too big, in his opinion, but Johnny keeps that thought to himself_ ), and he really should get the fuck up because it’s probably noon or something, judging from how the sun is so high up in the sky. He feels around blindly on the bedside dresser for his phone, eyes still fixed on that stupid crack on the ceiling, his mind oddly far from where it’s supposed to be in his brain. 

No, it’s not odd that his mind isn’t with him. He knows _exactly_ why he’s feeling so floaty, dazed out of his mind despite the lack of a headache that comes with having consumed too much alcohol the night before. This particular decision wasn’t made drunk. In fact, there had been absolutely no drinks involved at all. This scenario that he’s somehow stuck in, right now, is entirely his own fault. No one else’s. 

A shadow falls across his face, blocking the sunlight that had started creeping up the bed when he had gotten lost in his head. Johnny tilts his head, looks up into Doyoung’s face, and the remaining words and thoughts bouncing around in his brain just slides out like water going through a sieve. 

Doyoung smiles down at him,damp fringe plastered to his forehead, traces of pink flush from a hot shower streaked across his cheekbones. He’s wearing Johnny’s dress shirt, Johnny realises belatedly, buttons in the wrong holes, one sleeve sliding off a pale shoulder to reveal a dark purple bruise peeking out from under the fabric. Johnny knows that if he places his mouth over that bruise, it would fit perfectly both in shape and size, just like how the lid of a tupperware clicks in place when snapped over the container that it is made for, sealing the leftovers away for storage in the fridge for another day. 

There is a mug in Doyoung’s hands, steaming, of course, probably green tea, the string of the teabag looped loosely around the top of the handle. It’s a habit that Johnny had noticed on his third visit to Doyoung and Ten’s dorm room back then in freshman year, watching the other boy across the room from where he was sitting cross-legged on his best friend’s bed. Doyoung had owned a mug with “ _Carpe Diem_ ” printed across the white surface in garish gold cursive, apparently a joke gift from his brother back then ( _Seize the fucking day, bitches!_ Ten had crowed dramatically). Johnny vividly remembers the translucent steam rising from the rim of the tacky mug, the string of the green tea bag looped loosely around the handle, the tag with Japanese characters printed on it dangling loosely in the wind current of the rattling fan in the tiny twin dorm room. 

He also remembers how Doyoung looked back then, hair bleached a bright blonde, fringe cropped too short, cheeks fuller with baby fat that he hadn’t lost yet. The younger boy’s eyebrows were furrowed together in concentration, earphones plugged in and blasting some indie punk-rock band that spit out lyrics angrily in Korean while he scribbled out answers to the questions in the thick answer bank in front of him with an efficiency that frankly, scared Johnny a little bit at that time. 

This Doyoung in front of him has a sharper jaw, cheeks slightly hollowed out from bad eating habits and workaholic tendencies accumulated across four years of undergraduate studies and studying for the actuary qualification exams. This Doyoung has black hair, soft and silky in between his fingers, the planes of his collarbones sharp against skin, a pale canvas with purple, pink and red splattered across. But this Doyoung still loops the string of his teabag across the handle of the mug that he uses to drink his tea, to prevent it from falling into liquid. _No one likes the taste of paper in their tea, hyung,_ he had told Johnny with an eye roll, pointedly ignoring Ten’s snicker in the background before pulling his noise-cancelling headphones on and turning back to the question bank that never seemed to reduce in thickness over the years. 

Doyoung cocks his head to the side, one corner of his lips pulled up in a soft smirk, familiar and stirring a warmth in Johnny’s stomach that had flitted in and out over the four years of friendship that they had cultivated. He takes a gulp of his tea, reaches out and trails one finger up the expanse of Johnny’s naked chest before stopping squarely on one particular purple mark. 

One right over Johnny’s heart. 

In that moment, it takes all of Johnny’s will to keep his heartbeat under control, to regulate it to the even tempo that it usually follows when he’s not feeling the tangle of emotions in his gut whenever he looks at Doyoung. He can’t let his heart betray him, not when he has Doyoung all to himself for now. Not when the clock is ticking while the weekend draws closer, and Johnny just wants to pretend that there is no deadline on this arrangement that they have both agreed to. An arrangement that Johnny couldn’t say no to, because he just can’t say no to Doyoung. 

Doyoung looks at him for a bit, a thick film of emotions that Johnny just can’t decipher glossing over his eyes. However, it is gone as quickly as it came, and Johnny barely registers the telltale glint in Doyoung’s eye before the younger lifts his hand and snaps his palm across Johnny’s chest.

“Ouch, what the _fuck_ , Doyoung?” he scrambles to sit up, hand going to his chest reflexively as Doyoung throws his head back and laughs. The sound is music to Johnny’s ears, and _oh_ Johnny is absolutely absolutely entranced by the way the bright sunlight frames the delicate curve of Doyoung’s throat. He is transported back to last night, Doyoung’s head thrown back in pleasure, the pale moonlight filtering across his pale throat that had been far too empty for Johnny’s liking. Johnny had immediately given into his base urges, head too dizzy from lust and a burning desire for something that he knows he can’t have, sinking his teeth into Doyoung’s neck as the younger man exhaled his name with a moan and asked him for _more_. 

Doyoung smirks at him, eyes curved into glittering crescents, gummy smile stretching his face wide, Johnny feels his heart trip. _Traitor_. 

“Come on now, breakfast is ready,” Doyoung backs away from him slowly, tongue poking out of his swollen lips, the glint in his eyes turning into something hungry. He watches Johnny’s eyes, aware of how Johnny is looking at him, fully conscious of the way Johnny’s gaze trails over his bare legs and takes in the hand-shaped bruises imprinted on his outer thighs. 

_It’s your work_ , a small voice in his head reminds him, smug and content, and Johnny tries to quash it. _You left those on him, all those marks, on his throat, on his shoulder, on his chest, on his legs._ You. _You did_ that. 

_No one else._

“Johnny?” Doyoung’s voice is crushed pearls on velvet, sliding into his head and wrapping a firm hold around his floaty, dizzy mind removed from reality. He looks back at the younger man, just in time to see Doyoung undo the top button of his shirt ( _your shirt_ , the voice reminds him, satisfied and content, like a cat that had gotten the cream) and tug it further off his shoulder. His companion smiles, devious and satisfied, like that goddamned voice in Johnny’s head, clearly pleased that Johnny’s attention is no longer elsewhere and is instead focused on him. 

“Come to breakfast,” Doyoung breathes, his lips swollen and his eyes hooded, the living embodiment of sin and laviciousness. “There’s dessert too.” 

With that, he’s gone, humming some ballad that Johnny doesn’t know as he moves to the kitchen. Johnny inhales, once, twice, before pulling on his boxers and finding a pair of jeans, ignoring the discomfort between his legs as he yanks the zipper up with shaky hands. 

He finds Doyoung seated at the kitchen counter, fork in his mouth and tapping away on his phone, a platter of pancakes and bacon in front of him with a bottle of honey sitting innocently beside it. The bottle’s new, Johnny realises, probably the one they had gotten on their grocery trip on their drive here. He stops beside Doyoung, squints at the phone screen before gently wrapping his fingers around the device and pulling it away from the younger man. 

“You’re not supposed to be working, Doie. We’re on vacation.” 

“Mhmm,” Doyoung leans into him, lazy and warm, and Johnny is torn between the many thoughts bouncing off the walls of his head. So many of them, so many itches begging to be scratched. At the forefront of everything, a blatant, ardent want to slide his hand under his shirt hanging off the younger man, to rediscover the marks of their passion last night and retrace the order of how he had made them bloom across Doyoung’s pale skin with his teeth, with the underlying deep-seated desire to hold onto Doyoung and kiss him and just _never_ let him go. 

There are warm hands sliding up his chest and wrapping around his neck, pulling him down into the heat of Doyoung’s mouth and Johnny’s mind just goes blank. 

“Vacation, huh,” Doyoung pulls back and Johnny just follows obediently, because it is _Doyoung_ and he is weak. He has always been weak for Doyoung, he knows it, and he believes that Doyoung _knows_ as well. That’s probably why he’s here, in the lakehouse that Doyoung’s family owns on the edge of the small woods in Georgia. Doyoung’s family is ridiculously rich, a combination of old money from a well-established family business and the ridiculous amounts that his mother and older brother are paid for their roles in box-office hits on the silver screen. This lakehouse is one of many that they own around the world, yet Johnny knows that Doyoung has some lingering attachment to this particular one. He sees it in the way Doyoung’s fingers ghost across the coffee table in the living room, sees the fondness in his friend’s eyes as the younger stands in the bedroom and takes some time to just absorb everything he sees. 

Johnny had felt like an outsider invading this safe space permeated with Doyoung’s memories, standing awkwardly in the doorway of the bedroom with his backpack slung across his shoulder and his other hand on the handle of Doyoung’s small suitcase. He felt like a voyeur, looking into one of the most intimate parts of Doyoung’s life, like he didn’t deserve to be there because even though they were friends, best friends even, this just didn’t feel like something that you would share with _just_ a friend. 

Doyoung had then turned around, yanked Johnny closer by the lapels of his jacket before ordering Johnny to fuck him into the mattress. And Johnny had proceeded to do that, because he just _cannot_ say no to Doyoung. 

“Remind me?” 

Doyoung is reaching for his zipper, phone completely forgotten as he leans up to take the lobe of Johnny’s ear in between his teeth, calf sliding in between Johnny’s thighs. One strategic bump of his knee has a moan spilling out of Johnny’s mouth, and Johnny feels Doyoung’s smile against the sensitive skin of his pulse momentarily before the younger man bites down hard.

Johnny cant say no to Doyoung. Not during all the times that Doyoung had asked him to stay for dinner, not when Doyoung had asked him if he wanted coffee in the mornings even when he already had an iced Americano on his way over. Doyoung _knows_ , he thinks, that Johnny just can’t say no to him, which is probably why he had ended up saying yes to Doyoung when his best friend’s ex-roommate had pulled him aside after the opening of his graduation show and asked him for a favour. 

He should have known something was up. Doyoung asks him for many things, but he has never asked Johnny for a _favour_. 

_You still ended up saying yes_ , the voice in his head tells him, sinking its tendrils into his brain and anchoring itself there. _But it’s great, isn’t it? He’s yours, all yours to fuck and ruin and love, for one_ **whole __** _week. Yesterday was just the beginning, today is another day. He’s_ **yours __** _,_ **still** **yours __** _, because you said_ **yes __** _to him._

Johnny tells the stupid voice to _shut the fuck up_ as he reaches for the bottle of honey on the table. 


	2. i'll meet you anywhere, but i've been farther down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all of you who left kudos and comments on the first chapter! i really really appreciate it and i will be replying to comments when i have the time. the next chapter won't be coming so soon, since i'll be starting work, but i will: do my best. 
> 
> so here we go, chapter two.

_“Wait, who are you going with, on this random vacation again?”_

_Johnny doesn’t look up from where he’s folding some shirts and a cardigan. “Doyoung.”_

_“Doie asked you?” There is a shuffling from where Ten is splayed across his bed as his best friend sits up, Johnny’s stuffed bear clutched to his chest. The bear had been a present from Doyoung, a gag gift as a front for the expensive Seiko watch that he had actually purchased for Johnny instead. A sort of congratulations for getting three of his photographs on display in a show at a relatively well-known gallery just two streets down from the university._

_Johnny had asked to keep the bear anyways. Doyoung had just shrugged and said that he kind of looks like the stuffed animal before asking him if he wanted tea._

_Of course, Johnny had said yes. How do you say no to that?_

_“Yeah,” he stacks his folded shirts up neatly in his backpack, reaching for the net holding his underwear. “Why are you surprised? We have gone on vacations before together. Just the two of us. I don’t get why you’re reacting like that, Tennie.”_

_He’s not lying. They had taken impromptu weekend trips together before, in Johnny’s beat up Honda to small towns away from the busy city where their university is located in. Sometimes it was Doyoung’s idea, having found a niche small art show that he wanted to go so badly. Other times, Johnny had been the one who had initiated these weekend getaways, finding novel food trucks in picturesque villages and springing them on Doyoung with his heart beating in his throat as he tamped down the inherent fear that Doyoung just might say no._

_But Doyoung never did say no. So they spent many weekends together in small cheap motels, all paid in cash, sharing a couple’s room simply because it is cheaper to just get one bed. They would sit beside each other, propped up on as many pillows as they could ask for, flicking through the photos had taken on Johnny’s camera and laughing about the silliest things and talking about everything and nothing into the night. Doyoung is usually the one to fall asleep first, cheek pillowed on his palm, forehead pressed into Johnny’s shoulder._

_Johnny can never find it in him to move. If he had gotten three wishes, Johnny thinks that he would spend one wishing for endless weekends like this with Doyoung. Just the two of them, eating cheap but extraordinary takeout from obscure food trucks with barely five people standing in line, tangled together in scratchy sheets in a motel room that they had only paid thirty bucks for three days and two nights. Doyoung’s smile, soft and content in the shitty yellow lighting of the room as he leaned his head against Johnny’s shoulder and watched Johnny click through the photos on his SD card in silence while their shared Spotify playlist plays Taylor Swift in the background, set on shuffle of course._

_“This vacation is different, dude,” Ten squeezes the plushie around the middle, looks up at Johnny with no humour in his eyes. “You guys are going to his fucking family lakehouse. In Georgia. Not some cheap shitty motel in a small town five hours away.”_

_Johnny clicks his tongue, starts wrapping the cord of his Macbook charger around the square plug. “Still a vacation, Ten. It’s not going to be anything different.”_

_“It’s different, John. That lakehouse is where he used to go for vacations all the time with his family before his Donghyun became an actor and they couldn’t take family vacations anymore.”_

_Johnny stills, partly from Ten calling him by his legal name and not his nickname, and from the information that had come out of his best friend’s mouth. Somehow, he always forgets, despite the label of “best friend”, that Ten had known Doyoung longer. That was how he met Doyoung; Ten knew Doyoung first. They had met during middle school in the bathroom at an award ceremony, bored out of their minds due to necessary attendance._

_Ten and Doyoung have a lot in common. Both of them come from families with money, both of them have mothers who made money with their face. The biggest difference between the two of them? Ten uses his family’s money and power comfortably, which is why Johnny is renting the smallest room in his ridiculously large mansion that his family had purchased for the sole purpose of housing their son near his chosen university._

_Doyoung, on the other hand, hates using his family money. He lives in a tiny studio with a partition that separates the bedroom and the bathroom from the kitchen and the pathetic excuse of a living room which only had a coffee table. It never held anything other than his textbooks, his papers, his laptop and that stupid thick exam question bank. Doyoung had refused to let Johnny put anything alcoholic on that particular table. No beer, no wine, no whiskey, no vodka._

_“I don’t drink when I have to study,” Doyoung had told him. “Clouds my mind, slows it down. Don’t need that shit when I have to finish my fucking double degree and pass the actuary certification exam all within the same timeframe so that I can make sure that fucking Milliman won’t withdraw that stupid offer of a full-time position with them.”_

_Right. The full-time position with Milliman. One of the best actuarial and consulting firms in the whole world._

_Doyoung pays for everything out of his own pocket, saved up from internships, part-time jobs and tutoring gigs. From cooking his own meals to his second-hand Toyota, Doyoung hardly looks like the definition of a rich kid with a trust fund that had more zeros than the amount of which Johnny’s entire extended family is probably valued at. He has a full-ride for the entire four years of undergrad tuition, courtesy of the university, with a pretty sum of allowance based on his academic excellence and active campus participation added onto that._

_Johnny knows that Doyoung has a black card in his wallet, one that he refuses to touch. It is blank, with no name on it, but he has told Johnny that it’s given to him by his brother. For emergencies, apparently. But Doyoung never uses it. He pays for everything with a normal debit card, Visa, with his legal name etched onto it in silver raised letters._

_(Kim Dongyoung.)_

_The nameless black card is one of those reminders that Doyoung comes from money. This family lakehouse on the edge of a nameless small wood in Georgia is another one._

_“Have you been there?” Johnny’s not sure if he wants to know Ten’s answer._

_Ten shakes his head, lips pressed together. “Nah. Doie’s a very private person. You know that. He tries not to talk about his personal life or his past. Not even to me.”_

_He hands Johnny the bear plushie and swings his legs off the side of the bed. Johnny watches his best friend’s back carefully as Ten stands up and stretches lazily like a sleek cat._

_“It’s going to be fine, Tennie,” Johnny isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince Ten or himself. “It’s just going to be like all the weekend trips we had. It’s just a little longer, one whole week.”_

_“Yeah, and then both of you will go and hunt for unknown food trucks and see underground art shows in the middle of a tiny nameless woods on the border of Georgia.” Ten rolls his eyes and pulls his phone out from his pocket, taps a few times on the screen. Johnny ignores the sarcasm rolling off his best friend-slash-housemate-slash-landlord in waves, feels around in his back pocket for his own phone instead._

_“Doyoung has something planned, he always does.”_

_“There’s something you’re not telling me, John.”_

_Johnny stares down at the bear plushie in his hands. “There isn’t.”_

_Ten stares at him for a bit, face carefully blank and neutral before he is distracted by the buzzing of his phone. He swipes away a notification, and types away aggressively for a while as he backs away towards the door of Johnny’s room. Just before he leaves, he snaps his head up to stare at Johnny with concern etched into his eyes._

_“I hope you know what you’re agreeing to, Johnny.”_

\-- 

Frankly, Johnny doesn’t know what exactly he had agreed to with Doyoung. He should have seen this coming, especially when Doyoung had been awfully vague but this whole “ _week-long vacation at the family lakehouse, let’s go!_ ” thing from the very beginning. 

He had been waiting outside his place, backpack already in the boot of his trusty Honda, camera bag slung over his shoulder, scrolling his Instagram feed while waiting for Doyoung to show up. What he did _not_ expect though, was for Doyoung to pull up in front of him in a fucking _Aston Martin_ , painted a cobalt blue that was _definitely_ a custom request colour, with tinted windows to boot. Doyoung had rolled down the window of the driver’s side, glanced up at Johnny from behind aviator frames that were _definitely_ Chanel and told him to put his backpack in the trunk and _get into the fucking car, Suh_.

 _Something’s weird_ , the voice in his head whispers. _Doyoung doesn’t like luxury brands. The car and the frames are probably from his family, and he absolutely hates taking from them. But here he is, with all of that. Something’s weird, John._

“Coffee?” Doyoung says the moment he slides into the passenger seat. Damn, the seats aren’t leather, knowing Doyoung and his hatred for anything that involved animal abuse, but they still felt like they cost too much. Just by sitting in this car, in his cheap clothes from a Uniqlo sale, Johnny feels that he’s already making the value of this ridiculously expensive vehicle go down too quickly. But Doyoung smiles at him over his stupid Chanel sunglasses and hands him an Americano from Starbucks, so Johnny shoves that stupid voice to the back of his head, locks it away in a case and throws away the key without thinking twice. 

The drive hasn't been anything out of the ordinary. They laugh about finally being done with four years of undergraduate life, about Johnny finally moving out of Ten’s house, about the party last week where Taeyong had gotten so fucking drunk, he had just straight up climbed onto Ten’s kitchen counter and proceeded to confess his undying love for his boyfriend. Jaehyun had just laughed it off, ears tinted red in the dim light, and swept him off the counter and kissed him in front of an audience whooping and catcalling. 

Johnny had been there of course, joining in the cheering with his own fingers clenched around his drink. He had never been salty about being single; in fact, he kind of likes it, having free time and spending the weekends with Doyoung by going on unplanned drives and eating the weirdest combinations of food they could find. He’s happy of course, for Jaehyun and Taeyong, seeing the way that they look at each other makes him believe that love, like in those sappy rom-coms that Doyoung loves to shit on, actually exists. That he has a shot of finding it for himself too, like how Jaehyun and Taeyong found each other when they crashed into each other in the community hall during orientation week, fell in love and never looked back. 

Doyoung had sidled up to his side, tucked himself under Johnny’s arm and smiled up at him. His lips were shiny from the mix that Taeil had made, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and he looked like he belonged right there. Warm, soft, at Johnny’s side, fitting in flawlessly with him, like how two halves of a magnetic clasp click perfectly together. 

In that moment, Johnny believed that maybe, he was looking at love directly in the face. 

“Oh yeah, we gotta do a grocery run. There’s nothing but canned food at the house I think, and you know how much I hate that crap.”

Watching Doyoung run a hand through his black hair, the other on the steering wheel as he checks his phone for the nearest place with a supermarket, Johnny automatically lifts his camera to his eye and presses the shutter. The younger man isn’t fazed, too used to Johnny's incessant addiction to photographing everything in his life. Instead, he had set their destination on Google Maps to a mall that was just twenty minutes from them, thirty minutes from their final drop-off point before pulling the ludicrously expensive car back onto the road. 

Johnny takes more pictures of Doyoung during the twenty minute drive. He continues snapping photos in the supermarket, watching fondly as Doyoung picks out frozen corn dogs and nuggets from the brand that Johnny likes. He pushes the trolley down the aisle, watches Doyoung put random things into the cart. A cast-iron frying pan, a spatula, a bottle of honey, a block of butter. None of the items are weird; but, Johnny has gone grocery shopping with Doyoung many times before, so he immediately recognises that the majority of the cart is made up out of brands that are absurdly overpriced. 

Doyoung claims that he is allergic to the Organic aisle at the supermarket just five minutes away from his cramped studio. He always makes fake retching noises whenever they pass it, making a beeline to the meat sale section and checking the expiry dates with the same intensity that he attacks his exam question bank with. Johnny had just merely followed him with the trolley, picking out the staples that he knows Doyoung’s pantry and fridge is filled with, and has a staring contest with the pile of chips that are on sale until Doyoung returns and fills the cart with three servings of meat that expire in four days. 

Doyoung hates Organic shit, complains that it is a farce and that it isn’t any healthier than the normal mass produced brands. _We are made of shit, we consume shit, and then it actually becomes shit when it comes out of us,_ he had told Johnny once, poring over the tax theory cheat sheet that he had meticulously typed out on Microsoft Word and printed out. Font size five, line spacing zero point five, margins zero. Johnny had merely stared back at him over the top of his laptop where he had been working on editing his portrait assignment and told him that he was going to go blind if he continued making his cheat sheets in that same formatting. 

Doyoung dumps a bag of organic granola into the cart, followed by a bag of organic frozen spinach. Johnny catches the price tag on the rack before he slams the fridge door shut and winces internally before going to catch up with his friend. He doesn’t ask Doyoung anything, just watches with wide eyes as Doyoung makes small talk with the cashier and pays for everything with the black card that had gone untouched in his wallet for the past four years. 

“Hey, can you get the groceries back to the car? And get us some McDonalds for lunch? _God_ I’m fucking starving.” 

And normal Doyoung is back, for a bit. Johnny stares at him dumbly, hands already full with the bags out of habit because he doesn’t let Doyoung carry anything whenever they go grocery shopping. Doyoung has a weak back, a result of childhood scoliosis made worse by all the hours that he spends hunched over at the coffee table in his apartment. Ten had been the one to tell Johnny that, after seeing the empty boxes of pain relief patches that took up half of the trashcan in Doyoung’s room. 

“He’s stubborn,” Ten had muttered, staring out of the window of the cafe that they were eating lunch at. “Doie will literally work himself to death for the things he wants. He doesn’t take care of himself, that’s how he is.”

Johnny had pocketed the namecard on the table and turned his attention back to his steak. 

One week later, he had dragged Doyoung into his shitty Honda and driven him to the address listed on the pale white piece of hard paper. It turned into another one of their weekly habits, appointments with Dr. Do Kyungsoo on Thursday. Johnny sits in the diner opposite the clinic alone, alternating between editing photos on his computer and taking photos of the street while sipping leisurely on his iced coffee. Five minutes after an hour has passed, Doyoung will slide into the seat opposite him, order an iced tea and waffles with cookies and cream ice-cream, asking for two sets of cutlery and a top-up for Johnny’s coffee. 

So Doyoung goes willingly to his appointments with Dr. Do, and Johnny carries his groceries for him. They get waffles at the diner opposite the clinic. Just two of the many habits and routines that they share despite living thirty minutes apart from each other and being in different majors and departments at the same university. 

He smiles at Doyoung, groceries in his hands. “I’ll do you one better, there’s a Popeyes near the car park. How about a chicken sandwich instead?”

Doyoung smiles at him, wide and open and pats him gently on the chest. Johnny internally hopes that he doesn’t accidentally feel the sudden stutter of his heart. 

“Sounds good. See you back at the car? I need to get some other things on my own. Here are the keys.”

Johnny nods. There is no reason to say no to that. 

\-- 

Doyoung comes back with a small plastic bag in his hand, the red Target logo plastered across one side. He slams the door of the expensive car closed, hikes one foot up on the seat and stares across the car park for a bit. Johnny watches him out of the corner of his eye, straw stuck between his teeth, but puts down his phone to reach for the chicken sandwiches in the paper bag perched behind the handbrake, warm and ready to be eaten. 

“You wanna roll the windows down? Not sure if you want the greasy smell of fried food to be stuck to the inside of your new ride.” 

“John.” 

Johnny blinks. Doyoung hasn’t called him that in a very long time, not since they started meeting up to watch _How I Met Your Mother_ without Ten at Doyoung’s apartment because the bastard had decided to go ahead and watch the eighth season by himself so that he could impress his date. Hoes over bros, he had said. 

Johnny remembers the night, exactly how it went. They were cuddled up against the headboard of Doyoung’s super single, the only thing in the apartment that wasn’t off Craigslist or gotten on sale, watching Lily and Marshall fight over whether they should have a DJ or a band at their wedding. Doyoung had his head on Johnny’s shoulder, fists loosely curled into the sheets, eyes fixed intensely on the laptop on the small bed table that Johnny often used when keeping him company in the living room. He had stretched for a bit, reached out to pause the video, before swinging his legs off the side of the bed. 

“Coke, Johnny?” 

Johnny, not John, not Suh. Johnny. 

Johnny had smiled up at Doyoung and said yes. He does prefer Coke over Sprite. 

He takes his hand away from the paper bag and stares at Doyoung, sitting ramrod straight in the driver’s seat, one ratty worn-out converse sole planted on a car seat that probably cost more than Johnny’s tuition. Doyoung’s lip is trembling, his fingers shaking around the plastic bag in his hands, and his eyes are locked on one point far ahead beyond the windshield. 

“Doyoung, hey, is everything alright?” 

Doyoung turns around to look at him, eyes flickering from Johnny’s hand on his thigh to his friend’s face. He swallows hard, tears his eyes away and continues staring out into the sea of cars and motorcycles before them. 

“Hey,” he presses his thumb into the muscles of Doyoung’s thigh, squeezing it gently. It is something that he always does whenever Doyoung goes into these mini spirals down his head, reminding Doyoung that there is someone with him, that he isn’t alone with the dangerous thoughts dragging him down away from reality. 

“Talk to me, Doyoung.” 

Doyoung swallows hard once more, turns around to look at him. The sky is filled with wispy clouds that are pale grey, swirling gently across the blue background, foreshadowing the possibility of a downpour in this area. With his black hair unstyled and messy, his eyes large and wide, Johnny realises that he’s _scared_. He had only ever seen Doyoung like this before once, when Doyoung had read one particular text from his father and looked up at Johnny with the same expression on his face before flinging his phone into his mirror. 

Johnny had held Doyoung tight, in a room full of mirror shards, as Doyoung cried into his chest. 

Doyoung looks at him now, lips tight and eyes full of steel, like he’s made up his mind. He looks at the Target bag in his hands, ties the handles into a knot and throws it at Johnny. Johnny catches it by reflex, the plastic crinkling between his fingers, and raises an eyebrow at Doyoung. 

“Remember when I told you that this trip involves a favour?” 

Johnny nods. He’s not sure where this conversation is going. 

Doyoung nods at the plastic bag. “It involves that.”

Johnny pulls open the hastily tied knot and opens the bag to see about ten bottles of lube and ten packets of condoms, all different brands and different flavours, judging by the variety of colours against stark white. His eye catches two bottles in particular, both of them the same colour, which he recognises even without seeing the label. It’s this particular brand that he keeps in his own bedside drawer, the same letters printed on the small packets of lube that are tucked away in his wallet. Johnny barely uses them anymore, honestly, but he always has them on hand just in case Ten decides to hook up with a dude at the bar that they usually haunt. 

He looks up, and Doyoung is staring at him, hands clasped loosely around his knee. 

“John, will you do me the favour of fucking me into oblivion on this vacation?” 

The sun breaks out from the gray clouds behind Doyoung and filters into the car. The border between the yellow of the sunlight and Doyoung’s inky black hair is blurred as it continues rising higher and higher in the sky. Johnny thinks he looks absolutely breathtaking like this, jaw set in determination, chin held high in pride with the sunlight framing him like a halo. The only thing that gives him away is the slight wobble of his lower lip, a telltale sign that Doyoung is prepared for rejection. Johnny has seen this before, when Doyoung had gotten the call from Milliman a week after interviewing with them, his fingers digging into Johnny’s arm as he listened to the caller and replied with short, cheerful sentences while waiting to hear the final verdict. 

Johnny looks down at the bottles similar to the one tucked away in his bedside drawer and exhales slowly. 

“You sure bought a lot of lube and condoms for this favour.”

Doyoung sighs, turns away from him and taps the button to start the car. As the engine purrs to life beneath them and Johnny scrambles to get his seatbelt on, he wonders if his comment had been inappropriate, maybe a little too far, even if the other person involved was Doyoung. 

“Told you, the house isn’t close to anything. Don’t wanna have to drive out here again for this.” 

Johnny laughs, ties the plastic handles back into a knot and sets it on his lap. They drive in silence for a bit and Johnny unhooks his sunglasses from his collar to put them on as protection against the glare of the sun. Doyoung hadn’t bothered to put his back on, instead choosing to squint at the road before them with his fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. 

At a red light, Doyoung pulls the handbrake up and turns to look at him again. 

“You didn’t say yes.”

Johnny doesn’t know what to say, actually. He just lets Doyoung continue talking. 

“You don’t have to, you know. We’ll just watch all ten seasons of _Modern Family_ before we start on the finale round, eat three meals, maybe supper, have a few drinks, and then go to sleep in separate beds at night. Maybe go camping for a day or two, find a trail, see some birds, maybe fish in the lake. I don’t know what people do in the woods, but we’ll figure something out. You don’t have to say yes to that favour, Johnny. You’re allowed to say no.”

But Johnny doesn’t know how to say no to Doyoung. Maybe Doyoung knows that, maybe he doesn’t. Johnny’s not too sure about that. He had looked at Johnny, ready to take no for an answer, and asked his favour anyway. Johnny is weak for Doyoung generally, weak for Doyoung who works himself to his limits and makes the best food out of the cheapest ingredients. However, Johnny is _especially_ weak for Doyoung who is vulnerable, scared of rejection, but chooses to put up a strong front to hide the cracks that are rapidly spreading across his pride, taped together by sheer will and determination to make a life for himself without his family’s money or influence. 

He just reaches for the paper bag from Popeyes, pulls out the chicken sandwiches and peels back the wax paper around one of them and offers it to Doyoung. 

“Better fuel up if you wanna keep up with me. I do have a reputation, you know.” 

Doyoung grins at him, pushes down the handbrake and grabs the sandwich before turning his eyes back on the road. 

“You underestimate my stamina, Suh.” 

It will be fine, Johnny tells himself as he bites into bread and crispy chicken, slightly cold from the air-conditioning but the flavour is still as good as he remembers. He will survive this vacation with Doyoung, like all the other vacations before, where he had wanted to kiss Doyoung under the dim yellows of streetlamps or hold Doyoung forever in his arms on cheap motel sheets in a queen bed where their feet dangled off the end. He had survived all of that, and held back his inherent desire to kiss Doyoung and ask him to marry him. He had managed to keep the friendship intact, all of it, without letting his feelings for Doyoung get in the way of the weekends that felt like beautiful, beautiful dreams that Johnny wanted to record on tape and relive again and again by watching them on a projected screen in his bedroom. They weren’t exactly dreams, they had actually happened, but to Johnny they are figments that hint at a possible relationship that involves being more than friends and could maybe include matching rings five years down the road. 

It will be fine, even if sex is involved, even if seeing Doyoung naked is involved. 

Johnny crumples the wax paper in his fist, leans his forehead against the car window and closes his eyes, his background music the warm purr of the engine and the sound of Doyoung chewing. _It’s fine_ , he thinks, _saying yes to Doyoung always turns out fine_.


	3. say goodbye to my heart tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lyrics in italics and double slashes are from [nell's white night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=filhfToaks0) (first one) and [time spent walking through memories](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K72ZxP9ZAP4) (second one and the ones at the end). the first chunk of lyrics mentioned with single slashes are just chunks of old poetry i wrote when i was seventeen. don't judge me too hard. 
> 
> comments and kudos are always welcome! do let me know if i should bump the rating up.

The lakehouse is ridiculously huge. 

That’s the first thought that crosses Johnny’s mind when Doyoung pulls into the little lawn cleared of trees and signs and parks the car right there in front of the porch. His brain is usually a little more eloquent than that, having built up some muscle from writing captions and answering interviews on his photographs and works. Doyoung calls it “smoking” - _like you know, smoke looks like it’s actually there but it isn’t, you know. It looks pretty, but there’s no actual substance; that’s what your writing sounds like sometimes._ He complains and complains, but still helps Johnny write artwork captions and edit his artist statements, turning Johnny’s awkward chunky words slapped together into beautiful sentences that sounded like they belonged in a poetry collection of love declarations and unsaid confessions. 

In freshman year, Jaehyun had found a small notebook on the floor between Doyoung’s desk and his bed. He had opened it out of curiosity, despite Ten’s repeated scoldings, and Johnny, still being that fool who had fallen for Doyoung at first sight, had decided against his better judgement to peek as well. He had expected it to be filled with schedules and lists, very typical of Doyoung and his Type-A personality, workaholic to the core and using every form of organisation available to him. Google sheets, calendar applications, trackers, Discord bots even, Johnny had nearly choked on his drink when Doyoung opened up his desktop app to log in the word count for his case study assignment on a personal server ( _what? It’s better than selecting words and clicking the word count button on Docs every single time, John_ ) . 

What they found was none of that. Jaehyun had immediately closed the book shut, dropped it back to the spot on the floor where he had picked it up from, and immediately went back to studying for his Intro to Econ mid-term. Ten had chucked paper balls at his head, telling him that he shouldn’t touch Doyoung’s things because if his roommate found out, he wouldn’t be able to invite them over again. Johnny had retreated back to his usual spot at the end of Ten’s bed, staring at his sketch for his 2D assignment as he remained oblivious to Ten and Jaehyun bantering in the room. Background noise, really, it isn’t anything that Johnny is unfamiliar with. 

At the end of the second academic year, they had gone on an impromptu trip to Brooklyn, simply because Doyoung wanted to go visit the Museum of Contemporary African Diasporan Arts. Johnny had no objections, he hadn’t visited that particular museum before. After a whole day of walking through exhibitions and discussing art while sharing one of those audio guides they rented from the front desk (Johnny doesn’t understand why Doyoung gets them, he spends half of the time complaining about the narration), Doyoung drags him to a dingy little cafe nearby where Johnny had one of best coffees in his entire life.

Doyoung had pulled out that notebook, the same one Jaehyun had picked up off his floor. Johnny remembers it, the pale blue cover with the bunny sticker in the bottom left corner, pages yellowed from age. Doyoung had flicked to an empty page, pulled out the pen that he kept permanently in the front compartment of his bag, and scribbled down two whole pages of words aggressively before clicking his pen. 

“I used to write lyrics, a lot,” he told Johnny, straw trapped in between his teeth as he flipped to the few pages at the beginning. “I wanted to be a singer at one point in my life, in middle school. I was part of a band, I did vocals. We wanted to write our own songs, maybe get scouted on the streets, and then sign with a label and have a major debut. Like you know, those Japanese bands that always get scouted when they are busking on the streets.” 

The top of Doyoung’s straw was flat from how much he chewed on it. He always bites on his straw, it’s one of those signs that he is concentrating hard. The first time he had used his metal straw, he had bit down too hard, the clack had been too loud, and Johnny had laughed a little too hard at the indignant expression on his face. Doyoung’s used to it now, he still nibbles at the tip of his metal straw when he’s concentrating on the past-year paper before him, his pen flying across the grid-paper of the notebooks that he buys in bulk online every single year. _You know, your straw doesn’t help much if you’re wasting paper doing your question bank, Doie_ , Ten had chastised, his desktop open on a website for sex toys much to Johnny’s amusement. They were in a library that time, studying for finals, but Ten never did much studying despite being there. 

_I recycle_ , Doyoung had retorted, not even looking up from his papers. 

“What did you write lyrics about?” Johnny remembers asking him, and Doyoung had merely turned a few more pages before he settled on one and turned the notebook towards him. 

_i don’t know love in it’s big and grand ways / like how it starts to rain / when time seems to stop / when people kiss in the movies / I only know love in the small things / like how you take milk not sugar in your coffee / but i think / this love is the kind i want to have / the small things_

“Love songs?” 

Doyoung was looking at the streets of Brooklyn, teeth clamped over the fragile transparent plastic of the straw, his eyes and mind faraway where Johnny could not reach him. Johnny had let him sit there for a while, sipping at his own drink, the evening sunlight draping over them in a warm veil and catching Doyoung’s cheekbones in a way that was absolutely ethereal. 

“Yeah,” Doyoung finally said after what had seemed like forever. “I was in love back then.” 

Johnny had shifted in his seat. His coffee tastes like water at that point, the remnants in his plastic cup a result of the melting ice. “So what changed?” 

Doyoung shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the edge of the distant sky where it was turning from yellow, to orange, to a dark purple alarmingly fast. “A lot of things. I fell out of love. Donghyun became an actor. My mom stopped being a mother. I didn’t like singing anymore.” 

Johnny thinks that last one is a lie. Doyoung still likes singing, loves it even, if he dares to say so. It’s in the way Doyoung croons into the microphone of the karaoke machine at Ten’s house, his eyes closed in the most serene way as he sang along to IU’s _Dear Name_ with the kind of precise Korean that came with growing up in Korea. Johnny hadn’t grown up there, he had spent most of his life in Chicago; Doyoung on the other hand had grown up in Seoul until he turned eleven and his parents had decided to move to the US for family business.

“A lot of things changed, Johnny,” Doyoung had sucked up the dregs of his chocolate latte from the bottom of his cup with an intensity that Johnny endearingly associates with every fibre of his being. From studying accounting to watching movies and picking out plot holes, Doyoung does everything with one thousand percent and more, like he is fueled by constant motivation and drive that never seems to run out and only grows the longer Johnny knows him. 

In that moment, in that small alley in Brooklyn painted a soft yellow like the pages of Doyoung’s notebook with a bunny sticker, Doyoung looked more tired than anything. Johnny had reached out to hold his hand, and Doyoung had let him as they watched the setting sun tip over the edge of the horizon and the sky bleed into purple and black. 

That Doyoung, soft and tired, burdened by the intensity of constantly striving and working, existed only in that moment in Brooklyn. It is one of the many versions of Doyoung that Johnny keeps filed in his head for himself, one of the many sides of Doyoung that he’s sure no one else has seen. One of the many moments where the younger let his guard down around him and just let himself be vulnerable for a bit. He doesn’t tell anyone about these sides of Doyoung that appears during the weekend trips to random underground art shows and inconspicuous nameless cafes. He likes to think that this Doyoung, like the others he has encountered before, is a version of Doyoung that he can keep all to himself. 

It’s one of the sides that perhaps, made Johnny realise that he was actually falling for Doyoung. 

Doyoung is an accounting student who also writes, poetic in his word choices and heartbreakingly tender in the way that he strings sentences together into small paragraphs that accompany Johnny’s photograph. _You should do a minor in Creative Writing_ , Taeyong had told him with wide eyes, after he had read one particular paragraph stuck on the wall beside a photo of an uphill street. Black and white, blown up to the dimensions of one hundred and forty by one hundred and seventy centimeters. Doyoung had snorted into his wine, shook his head and rolled his eyes, his palm warm against the inside of Johnny’s arm as their friends crowded around the photograph on the wall. 

“Johnny, get the bags will you? I’ll get the groceries after I unlock the door.” 

Doyoung slides his Chanel frames up his head, pulling his fringe back before fishing out a bunch of keys from his messenger bag. It’s still the same one he uses, Johnny recognises, the only expensive thing that Doyoung probably owned openly from the time they met in freshman year. It’s black, from Valentino, the capital letters VLTN printed boldly across the front. Another gift from Donghyun, Doyoung had explained exasperatedly, _out of his first paycheck for his first major role in a movie. Don’t remember which, I don’t watch them_. 

“Don’t go in without me,” Johnny teases as they step out of the car, watching as Doyoung clicks a button on his car keys and the boot automatically clicks and opens itself up. “Don’t wanna get lost in your huge maze of a lake house, or whatever this is called.” 

Doyoung scoffs at him, examining the keys in his hands. “It’s not that big, stupid. There aren’t many rooms. It’s built for one family, not like ten, so we will be fine. We won’t be using every single room anyway, so I will only be unlocking what we need.” 

Johnny shrugs back at him, shoves his backpack onto his shoulder and lifts Doyoung’s small carry-on suitcase out of the trunk. He pulls open the door of the passenger seat to grab the groceries in one hand, slinging some over the handle of the suitcase as he follows Doyoung up to the door, the younger man muttering under his breath as he squinted at the labels of the keys and shuffled through them. 

“God, John, I said _I_ would get the groceries.” 

“And I work out. Your point?” Johnny replies, daring Doyoung to say something back as he easily hauls the suitcase up with three bags of their grocery shopping with one hand. Doyoung rolls his eyes, jams a key in the lock and twists, all the while reaching for some of the bags in Johnny’s other hand while Johnny easily moves them out of reach. 

The living room is huge, and again Johnny thinks that he should be more proficient in coming up with synonyms for that particular word, given that he is actually a native English speaker unlike Doyoung. It’s clean and neat, but Johnny can tell that some of the pieces are actually expensive despite their nondescript appearance. His family isn’t super rich, but they aren’t exactly poor either, and occasionally Johnny’s mother likes to dabble in buying some expensive furniture or some art pieces here and there. The floor is clean and white, with large tiles, and covered with a soft rug. Doyoung tugs on the grocery bags in one of his hands, and he just lets it go, watches Doyoung stand there in the middle of the big empty living room with two plastic bags in hand. 

Doyoung’s eyes trace over every single piece in the living room, from the plain wooden dresser beside the comfortable dark blue couch, to the vintage-looking bookshelf under the huge flatscreen television, to the small plants littered around the room. There is a certain numbness in Doyoung’s eyes, something robotic in the way he looks around the room, but also a deep-seated longing and attachment hidden behind the wall that he has built up between himself and the rest of the world. 

That’s why Johnny likes the weekends he spends with Doyoung. The Doyoung that goes away with him on the weekends has no wall between him and the world that they are exploring, no wall between him and Johnny. Weekend Doyoung chooses to be open and enjoy everything they try, from tacky underground art shows trying to be edgy ( _the second Bauhaus?_ Doyoung had scoffed. _Seriously, who do they think they are?_ ), to ridiculous food combinations that didn’t seem to work but actually did. He laughs with his whole body, eyes flattened into tight lines, gummy smile breathtaking, warm and clingy in the way he presses close to Johnny’s side and lets Johnny take a million photos of him under the multi-coloured lights of the fireworks smattering across the night sky. 

Johnny likes to think that four years of being Doyoung’s friend, best friend even, (although the term is kind of flexible between him and Ten and Doyoung and Taeyong), has resulted in Doyoung being able to take the wall down with him. Most of the time, he believes that. Other times, Doyoung just curls into himself, worn ratty blue cardigan wrapped tightly around him, and flinches away from Johnny’s touch as the tears slid down his cheeks and soaked into the pristine white paper of his grid-lined notebook paper. 

Doyoung smiles at him, jerks his head in the direction of a doorway. “Kitchen’s here, let’s put away the groceries.” 

The kitchen is big too, with a lot of white and cream motifs, and Doyoung rifles through the cupboards to find mugs and bowls as Johnny puts away the groceries in the fridge. Frozen food and ice cream in the freezer, vegetables and fruit in the fresh food segment, eggs in the top-most tray on top of the door. He snaps open two cans of Coke, slides one over the kitchen counter to Doyoung, and sips on one himself as he folds up the plastic bags and takes note of the trashcan location while Doyoung rinses the selected cutlery in the sink. 

“Do you want a separate room?” 

Johnny blinks. He doesn’t understand the question.

Doyoung shrugs. “Don’t know if this whole friends with benefits, sex favour, might make sleeping in the same bed awkward with you? I don’t exactly mind. We always sleep in the same bed anyways when we are on vacation during the weekends.” 

_You don’t mind that too, right John?_ The voice in his head is back, rearing its head and wrapping its devious fingers around Johnny’s brain and whispering cruelly in his ear. _It’s like being a couple, right? Sleeping together, cuddling in the bed after you fuck him to orgasm as he screams your name and clings onto you. Kissing him after, cleaning him up, showering together, carrying him back to bed. Waking up to his sleeping face, kissing him and hearing him complain about your morning breath. It’s a dream, John. And you can live it. Just say that you don’t mind_. 

“I don’t mind,” he says obediently, feeling something in him uncoil as Doyoung _visibly_ relaxes before him, hands wet from the sink and expensive glasses still pushed up on his head. Doyoung coughs gently, takes another sip of his Coke before sliding it back across the counter. 

“Finish it,” he murmurs, like all the times when they order Burger King and Doyoung can’t bring himself to finish his fizzy drinks because he prefers non-carbonated options. So he pushes them towards Johnny and lets him finish the drinks while he packs everything neatly and sorts out the food waste and the recyclables. Johnny sips at it, his own can already drained, as he watches Doyoung pull out a post-it stack and a pen from his bag. 

“What are you doing?” The bubbly Coke is doing something in his stomach, churning lightly in the pits of his guts as he watches Doyoung click his pen and scribble over the blue paper, the younger occasionally glancing at his phone unlocked beside him on the counter. 

“Meal prep,” Doyoung answers without looking up. “Wash the cans in the sink and get a bag out for aluminum recyclables. We should have enough from the grocery run. Make sure to double bag so that the cans won’t cut through the plastic.” 

Johnny follows the instructions dutifully, used to Doyoung’s nagging. Doyoung really doesn’t have to say what he said, Johnny knows his habits and his routine by now, but there is something comforting in the way Doyoung still recites the instructions on autopilot. He rinses the cans in the sink and leaves them to dry on the rack before they crush them for bagging. Doyoung slides past him to put the sticky notes on the fridge, using the plain round magnets already there to hold them up. Johnny wipes his hands on a rag beside the sink and peers over Doyoung’s shoulder to read the recipes written on the paper. 

“Why isn’t there kimchi fried rice on this?” 

Doyoung scowls at him before jabbing at the third note from the right. “We’re having _dakgalbi_ on this day, so we’ll just have fried rice in the same pan. That’s why I got the cast-iron, stupid. They don’t really have one here. I’ll just bring it back to my place after the week is done. It's a good expensive one, that heavy boy. I planned it, don’t complain.” 

Oh yeah, Johnny had nearly forgotten about Doyoung’s erratic behaviour at the supermarket. It’s probably because of the favour that Doyoung had asked him in the car, he had chalked it up to _that_. He doesn’t really want to think about it too much or dwell on it. He doesn’t exactly know how to start this whole friends with benefit arrangement that he had agreed to, even if Doyoung had given him a way out, an option to say no. 

_But that’s fine no?_ The voice in his head croons gently, sounding suspiciously like Doyoung’s, dripping with sinful promises and unattainable figments of fantasy. _It’s what you wanted, you know. Literally every single person in your friend group has fucked Doyoung. Except you. Even Jungwoo has had a round, and Doyoung has claimed that he’s just like a younger brother._

“Doyoung.” 

He doesn’t know why he said it. Doyoung turns around, his collar loose and open, his collarbones on display and Johnny just wants nothing more than to bend down and kiss it. He doesn’t. Instead he just looks at Doyoung in the eye, swallows, and reaches out to take Doyoung’s hand in his. 

They’ve held hands before. It’s one of those habits that started from their weekend trips, and had remained restricted to those special weekends filed away in Johnny’s head in a special folder named “ _Doyoung <3_”, complete with the cheesy analog heart made with a less than symbol and the number three. However, somewhere near the beginning of their third year, Doyoung had started sliding his fingers into Johnny’s at their get-togethers at Jaehyun and Taeyong’s apartment, hidden under the table or by a conveniently placed pillow on Johnny’s lap, head on Johnny’s shoulder as he laughed at Taeyong’s stories and Jungwoo’s antics. Johnny doesn’t mind it, most of the time he laces their fingers tighter and pulls Doyoung closer. Other times, he’s the one who reaches for Doyoung’s hand, their palms and fingers slotting together perfectly like jigsaw puzzle pieces, tucked between them, his thumb on top of Doyoung’s as they watch Taeyong and Yuta’s dance showcase while Mark and Jaehyun holler loudly at their partners rolling their hips on stage. Doyoung just snickers, tucks his face into the collar of his coat, and lets Johnny rub circles into the back of his hand. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, thumb barely ghosting over the pale skin of Doyoung’s hand now. “You sure you want me to do this? You, and me. This is not some random impulsive decision, is it?” 

Doyoung swallows, eyes lingering on Johnny’s lips and shakes his head. The voice in Johnny’s head preens, smiling smugly and watching with shining eyes as Doyoung’s stare locks on Johnny’s lips and zones in on them. 

“No,” the word is barely a whisper, and Doyoung looks up from his lips to stare into his face. There is vulnerability written into every inch of Doyoung’s face, evident in the way that his eyes are wide and round, the tremble in his voice and the quiver of his lower lip. Doyoung has very nice lips, Johnny knows that, he has spent too much time thinking about kissing them when Doyoung had stared into the sunset with that faraway content look on his face that seemed to only come during their weekend getaways together in Johnny’s beat-up Honda. 

“I’ve thought about it, a lot, Johnny. Trust me, it was so hard to ask you in the car,” Doyoung grips his hand back, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a small smile. “I was prepared for you to reject me, honestly. I didn’t think you’d actually agree to this. It’s not exactly a conventional request, especially not between friends. Friends like us.” 

_Friends_. That word. Again, Johnny has spent way too much time thinking about what if, just _what if_ , instead of calling Doyoung his friend, maybe he could call him his _boyfriend_ instead. _Boyfriend_ , he thinks, has a nice ring to it, and maybe he could get Doyoung one of those slim rings he adores so much, maybe matching ones. One on his finger and the other on Doyoung’s. 

They have matching jewelry, friendship bracelets that Doyoung had gotten for them both, with their birthstones on it. _We’re both Aquariuses_ , Doyoung had told him, looping the bracelet around his wrist and fumbling with the tiny clasps. _Whatever that means, I stopped listening to Yuta after like the fifth word. I don’t get astrology. But I think our birthstone suits us both, hm? Amethyst, for both of us born in February, and Jaehyun and Jungwoo and Ten, but I’m not buying them shit cause they don’t deserve it. I think it looks good on you, John, so yeah, you have one, I have one too. If Jaehyun and Jungwoo annoy you about it, just tell them to fuck off._

Johnny had nodded dumbly as Doyoung finished settling the bracelet on his wrist. Doyoung had smiled at him, lifted his own hand to show the matching jewelry on his own wrist before reaching out to clasp Johnny’s hand in his own. _Happy birthday, Johnny_ , Doyoung had whispered into the darkness of the tiny motel room with all the lights off, a box of half-eaten pizza in between them on the coffee table, and Johnny had just fallen in love again right there. 

Johnny thinks he had fallen in love with Doyoung earlier, but he thinks in that small motel room in Brooklyn, Nell playing in the background from their shared playlist, that was The Moment that he realised that he was in love with Doyoung for the first time.

_in these endless hours // all of this place // is filled up with your dense coloured breaths_

“No, it’s fine, really,” he smiles down at Doyoung, ignoring the stuttering of his heart in his chest. “I don’t have a problem with it, really. I just didn’t want you to make a decision that you will regret, or something.” 

Doyoung raises an eyebrow at him. “Is this the part where I find out that you’re actually bad in bed and Jaehyun has been spreading lies?” 

Johnny groans. _Fuck Jaehyun. fuck his stupid childhood friend and his stupid fairytale romance with Taeyong aka a literal angel on earth._ “No. I don’t think I am. Bad in bed, that is.” 

Doyoung grins at him, tongue swiping across his lips, and all the thoughts in Johnny’s head turn into smoke and just drift out via his ears. “Hm, guess I’ll have to find out for myself then?” 

Johnny manages a shrug and a smirk. He’s aware of his reputation of being a little bit of a fuckboy, a result of Jaehyun’s loud mouth, all the parties he attended with Ten during freshman year, and the string of girls and guys that he had ended up in bed with because of alcohol and bad decisions. After he’s done, and the mood had died down, he usually just pulls on his jeans haphazardly while making up some vague excuse to his hookup on why he can’t stay the night, all the while booking an Uber on his phone with the destination set to Doyoung and Ten’s dormitory building. He usually stumbles into their shared room, having puked his guts out on the pavement outside, and Doyoung just raises an eyebrow at him before making space for him on his tiny single bed so that they can listen to Taeyeon’s cover of _Time Spent Walking on Memories_ until they both fall asleep. 

_the door of wanting opens // your memories come to find me // my eyes turn red_

Doyoung tugs at their entwined hands once before letting go of Johnny’s, reaching for the keys that he had left on the kitchen counter. “Come on, bring the luggage. I’ll show you the bedroom.” 

When Doyoung opens the door, Johnny just knows that it’s his bedroom, probably the one that he had to himself when he was younger and his family took vacations regularly still to this particular lakehouse. He stands there, in the liminal space of the corridor between the kitchen and the bedroom, backpack slung over his shoulder and one hand curled loosely over the handle of Doyoung’s suitcase. Doyoung just walks into the bedroom like he owns the place (which he probably does, the voice in his head reminds him), stops in front of the bed and stares around the room with a fondness in his eyes that Johnny has never seen on his face before. 

The room is, for lack of a better word, very _Doyoung_. The fitted sheets are dark blue with silver trims, a large queen-sized bed on a dark brown frame, and one of the walls is covered in posters of different bands and artists. Johnny recognises a few, Girls Generation, Panic! at the Disco, Taylor Swift, Kara, TVXQ. Others, he can’t really recognise, and his Korean isn’t good enough for him to read. The dresser on one side of the bed is painted a muted white colour, and Doyoung throws the keys onto it, the clanging of metal hitting wood ringing loudly throughout the bedroom. There is a large wardrobe tucked into the corner on the right, Johnny’s left, opposite the posters plastered on the wall, a large window looking out onto the lake in between them. On the other side, there is a door that Johnny assumes leads to an attached bathroom, given how big this place actually is he’s not surprised if every room comes with an suite. 

This room is a part of Doyoung that he hasn’t shown Johnny before, despite the many weekends spent together and the nights spent in Doyoung’s bed or on Doyoung’s coffee table pulling all-nighters for tests and deadlines. Doyoung, who never talks about his family or his childhood much, who refuses to watch the movies that his mother and his brother star in, clearly holds this part of his childhood very dear to him. Johnny feels like an outsider, an intruder, and his feet are rooted to the floor of the corridor and he wants nothing more but to blurt out that he’s okay sleeping on the couch. He’s afraid, he realises, deep down in his heart, that he’s terrified of touching this intimate part of Doyoung that no one else has seen. He’s just a giant, too tall in this room that _screams_ Doyoung with every single inch of paint and every piece of furniture, awkward angles and oversized chunk that didn’t belong in this bedroom that Doyoung is standing in with a nostalgia sunken in his eyes that Johnny is unfamiliar with. 

This Doyoung looks like a stranger to Johnny. 

Then Doyoung is in front of him, hands fisting in the lapels of his jacket, and his mouth is pressed to Johnny’s, hard. Johnny opens his mouth all too easily, his backpack hitting the ground with a dull thud as his hands find Doyoung’s waist on autopilot. 

Doyoung is _kissing him_. All of those daydreams, all those fantasies where Johnny wanted nothing more than to lean over and press his lips to Doyoung’s as the younger smiled at a pomeranian rushing across the field to its owner. Just like that, they no longer seemed like impossible make-belief, not when Doyoung’s tongue is hot against his and Doyoung’s fingers are digging into his hair to pull him closer and _oh,_ he can feel Doyoung’s erection against his thigh as Doyoung gasps out a whine into his mouth. 

He stumbles forward, his palms finding silk sheets as Doyoung pulls away from him, lips already swollen and eyes hooded with lust. Doyoung reaches for his belt, fingers brushing against his own arousal and Johnny can’t help but rock forward, forehead pressing into Doyoung’s shoulder and his lips finding Doyoung’s collarbone almost automatically. 

“Johnny, where’s the fucking Target plastic bag?”

“In my bag.” God, when had answering questions become so hard? Doyoung’s fingers are fumbling with the button of his pants, and the pressure makes Johnny bite down onto the pale skin of his collarbone. The sound that escapes Doyoung’s throat is absolutely _divine_ and _oh,_ Johnny wants to hear it _again_. 

And then Doyoung is pushing him off, his eyes hazy with lust as he reaches for the buttons of his own shirt. For a few moments, Johnny just watches him unbutton it, head empty and stupid thanks to his growing erection pressing against the zipper, hands hung loosely at his side as Doyoung sheds his shirt and lifts his chin up at Johnny. 

“Get the lube and condoms, John. Then come fuck me into the bed.” 

It is a miracle Johnny can still even follow the instructions with how foggy his head is. But he does exactly as he is told, retrieves a bottle of lube ( _the same on in your drawer_ , the voice in his head gleefully crows) and a pack of condoms, and mind just flies out of the window into the lake outside as Doyoung yanks open his shirt and presses his own teeth to Johnny’s neck. 

As Doyoung gasps his name into his neck for the first time, fingers digging into the skin of his neck, tight around his cock while white stains his fingers, Johnny realises belatedly at the back of his head that _fuck_ , he really wants _more_. _More of Doyoung, more of this_. 

And then Doyoung flips them around, hand splayed out on Johnny’s chest, playful smirk on his face and _moves_. Johnny’s head is just blank again and all he can think about is how _beautiful_ Doyoung looks with his head thrown back in pleasure, his mouth open as he _moans_ and the sound is _music_ to his ears. 

_He’s beautiful_ , the voice in his head whispers, and he prays that Doyoung doesn’t realise the uneven stuttering of his heart directly under his palms. _And he’s yours._

_(For now.)_

_(the door of wanting opens // your memories come and find me // my heart keeps getting torn)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /coughs gently/ i, a city girl, lover of small spaces, have no idea how big houses work.


	4. i keep on doing all this over and over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suggest listening to [dress by taylor swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNEoPctNIUE) and [as good as it gets by infinite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApZPijLd0i4) while reading this chapter. you can also google the lyrics for maximum effect :)
> 
> there's kunten in this chapter, quite a bit of it, and some mentioned ex-johnten but otherwise it's still johnny-centric. just letting you guys know about that. i promise to get around to replying to comments soon i'm so sorry about that.
> 
> rating has been bumped for reasons :)

Sometime towards the end of summer vacation that took place after the end of second year, Ten had told Johnny something utterly shocking and out of character. 

“I don’t want to be friends with Kun.” 

Johnny had nearly dropped the camera that he was putting away just with that sentence coming out of Ten’s mouth. They were both interning at a gallery just down the road from Ten’s house - Ten in exhibition design and planning, Johnny in marketing and publicity. It was after the opening of a show which they had both worked on, and they were lingering behind to clean up and snag the remainder of the leftover wine. Johnny had been checking the camera lenses and putting them back into their designated cases. Ten, on the other hand, had just been shutting down the computers and checking some last minute documentations for artwork sales. 

“You can’t say that, Tennie,” he had absolutely no idea what had compelled Ten to say that. Qian Kun, with his tender small smile and his constant nagging that was only rivaled by Doyoung, a real talent in the kitchen who looked at Ten like he held the stars and cooked pancakes at two a.m. purely because Ten said he was craving them. Of all people, Qian Kun? 

“Yeah,” Ten had replied, soft and sad, hands staring down the bracelet on his wrist, a simple rose gold chain with a blue butterfly charm on in. “I don’t think I can be friends with him anymore, Johnny.”

“What did he do?” God, masterchef or not, gentle smile or not, Johnny had been ready to sock Kun right in the face with his fist the moment he knew what he had done to Ten. Kun had already been a key part of their college clique, since the moment he transferred to their university in the middle of last semester. But Ten _is_ Johnny’s best friend, and he would do absolutely _anything_ to hurt whoever hurt his best friend. 

“Oh,” Ten had looked up at him, confusion written all over his face before shaking his head. “It’s not like that, Johnny. It’s not like that at all. Kun is the best person I know. The absolute best.” 

Johnny had watched his best friend sit there, in an office chair facing the black screen of the computer that he had just shut down, his fingers playing with the gift that Qian Kun had personally fixed around his wrist on his birthday in February. He remembers the way Kun’s fingers had lingered on Ten’s wrist, how Ten had threaded their hands together and reached up to press a kiss to Kun’s cheek tinted in pink. 

“I don’t want Kun like a friend, Johnny. I want him as someone more than that.” 

Two weeks later, Johnny had walked back into the house to find Ten making out with Kun on the couch, the smaller man wedged snugly into the Chinese student’s lap. Kun at least had the decency to smile in embarrassment, but Ten had instead dug his fingers into his _boyfriend’s_ shoulder and said with the cheekiest smile that they were open to having others in the bedroom. Doyoung had rolled his eyes, hefted his bag over his shoulder before going straight to Johnny’s room. However, he had stopped at the top of the staircase, smiled at two of his best friends giggling into each other’s faces before his expression had faded into a strange one that Johnny had never seen on him before. 

Just like all the Doyoungs that only existed in the little snippets of time sliced out on the weekends, that Doyoung only existed in that split second, where Johnny was the only witness to that strange poignant face. Johnny had gone to his room to find Doyoung splayed across his bed, face scrunched up in a whine as he nagged at Johnny about organising his desktop files properly while pulling up their shared Netflix account. Johnny always wonders why they had separate profiles; it’s not like they watched anything separately at that point, and Doyoung always clicks into Johnny’s profile to add new shows to his ( _their_ , the voice in his head corrects as he ignores it) list. 

They always had access to each other’s devices. Phone, laptop, iPad. Doyoung knows Johnny’s Facebook password and in turn Johnny knows the password to Doyoung’s Soundcloud account. Despite that, they never looked at more than what was necessary, never felt the need to pry, but Doyoung picks up calls on Johnny’s phone like it belongs to him and somewhere along the way, their friends got used to Johnny answering Doyoung’s phone as well. 

Some nights, at two a.m., when Doyoung is asleep against him, occasionally murmuring random case study facts into his chest (Taeyong _hates_ the fact that he sleeptalks, Johnny doesn’t mind), Johnny tries to pinpoint the exact time when the lines of best-friend and maybe-more-than-friends with Doyoung had intertwined so tightly, it had become impossible to separate each strand from the other. 

He never has an answer. 

“Do you think Kun is enjoying Thailand?” 

Doyoung is making scrambled eggs over the stove, on the new cast iron skillet. Johnny’s dress shirt is back on him, buttons properly done this time, but more crumpled in some places than others. The marks on his neck are stark against the pale canvas of his neck and the additional white of Johnny’s shirt, which follows every single movement as Doyoung moves around the kitchen while he cooks. 

Johnny can’t stop staring at them from his spot at the kitchen counter. The marks that he had bitten and sucked into Doyoung’s pale skin, renewed fervidly during their tryst on the kitchen table just now thanks to him having a sweet tooth. Doyoung had decided to douse half of his neck in honey. Who was Johnny to deny a free, sweet treat? 

“Probably. You know how Ten loves showing his home country around,” he remembers one of the surprise vacations that their entire group had been on. They had taken one to Bangkok, Ten’s hometown, after they were done with freshman year and Ten had pulled the tickets out of his pocket during the party thrown after their last final. One entire week in Thailand, accommodation provided by Ten’s family, laughing gleefully at each other as they tried local snacks and delicacies and tried to get Ten to teach them how to haggle at flea markets. Johnny remembers a particular visit to an elephant park, where Doyoung had flinched away from one particular elephant had extended its trunk out towards him. However, once Doyoung had warmed up to it, he had started patting the elephant endearingly, feeding it various fruits as snacks and smiling at it so tenderly that it made Johnny’s heart do that weird stutter in his chest. 

That’s the thing with Doyoung. He’s prickly at first impression, loud and snappy and irritable. Doyoung has never bothered to come across as civil if the situation doesn’t demand it. At most, he’s polite, aloof, with a careful disinterest that toes the line between indifference and discourtesy. However, if you stick around long enough, Doyoung eventually warms up, and under the snappy irritable facade is a tender, vulnerable man driven by a fervid desire to prove himself to the rest of the world without his family name being tagged constantly to his achievements. 

_Doyoung-ie is the best thing that has happened to me_ , Taeyong had slurred into Jaehyun’s shoulder, drunk after two shots of soju one Friday night. _Other than you of course, babe,_ Jaehyun had laughed at that and agreed. Yuta had lifted up his beer, suggested a toast to Doyoung, and Jungwoo, Taeil and Kun had agreed wholeheartedly while Johnny had lifted his own can to join in. Doyoung hadn’t been there, him and Ten were in Europe for family obligations (read: award ceremonies), but the group never forgot about them. They are dear to everyone, of course, their little clique becoming more family than friends over the course of four years in university, and Johnny knows that every single one of them would be willing to lay their life down if something ever happened to Doyoung. 

But no one ever knows what happens with Doyoung. Not even Johnny, with the many weekend getaways with their hands tangled with each other as Doyoung pressed close to him on threadbare motel sheets. Doyoung gives and gives, loves and loves, pours his affection out in the form of cooking and notes and nagging, but never opens his own door to receive any reciprocation from any others. 

There’s a platter of eggs in front of him, and Johnny blinks as Doyoung presses a soft kiss into his temple before he sits down and reaches for the pancakes. They are still warm, having been reheated in the oven while Doyoung scrambled eggs over the stove. Doyoung hands him some cutlery, Johnny accepts the pancakes on his plate drizzled with honey, and they eat their very late breakfast in the silence of a house too big for the two of them. 

They never talk over breakfast, regardless of the occasion. Be it a trip on the weekend, or maybe just Johnny staying over after pulling an allnighter, they never talk over breakfast. The talking happens afterwards, usually about school or work or what to do in the city that they have escaped to. It’s comfortable, Johnny thinks. He likes it, just focusing on the food in his mouth and looking at Doyoung inhaling his own cooking like he’s been starved for days. It’s nice like this, he thinks, watching as Doyoung grabs his abandoned phone and opens up Instagram, clicking onto Ten’s Story. 

“Oh my god, Ten actually brought Kun to that exclusive restaurant on the top floor of his family’s hotel,” Doyoung angles the phone around so that Johnny can see the screen. Sure enough, there’s a picture of Kun looking out of the window with wide eyes, blurry and probably taken by Ten before Kun can tell him to put away the phone. There is no caption on the picture, not even Kun’s username. Just a red heart emoji placed carefully on Kun’s cheek. 

Johnny knows that Ten has had feelings for Kun for the longest time, since they met the Chinese student in the middle of their second year. It didn’t start off like that, honestly. Ten and Johnny had been trying to figure out their new relationship of best-friends-turned-lovers-turned-exes in the midst of selecting the relevant advanced modules and general electives needed for graduation. Then, Doyoung had appeared with his arm around Qian Kun and introduced him as the music production major helping him with choir that year.

Ten doesn’t fall in love at first sight. It doesn’t work like that. 

Kun’s an intrinsically good person, to the younger Chinese students he adopts, to Johnny - his partner for Intro to Bio, to their entire friend group, Yuta included, even if he’s an ass most of the time. But he’s always been the best to Ten. He was the one who followed Ten to the tattoo parlour two streets down from the university and held Ten’s hand while the Thai had asked the resident artist if they could take him on as their apprentice. He was the one that Johnny had found Ten curled up on, tears dried on his face as he slept while his knee was in a cast after a particularly bad fall during rehearsal. Kun did all of these things for Ten, looked at him like he was the last star in the dark night sky, and promised Ten that he would always be his friend regardless of what happened between them. 

Sometimes, Johnny wonders bitterly if he had deliberately chosen to spend time with Doyoung in favour of not having to spend it with Ten after their break-up. It had been convenient, with Doyoung getting his own place, with their schedules lining up in the next semester, and Doyoung always had a spare toothbrush in the bathroom and coffee in the morning. 

Maybe Doyoung was a rebound, some version of that. A comforting place that Johnny could always return to. A rebound turned into a constant, a constant turned into home. 

“Tennie always liked showering us with gifts, so of course he’s gonna go all out for Kun,” he stares endearingly at Doyoung as the younger taps past the many pictures of Ten’s Story aggressively, his fork barely missing his mouth and smearing a small dollop of honey right at the corner. “It’s how he shows his affection, and Kun knows how to deal with it well enough.” 

Doyoung hums, pulling up his Explore feed to scroll through it now, and Johnny can’t take his eyes off his tongue as it darts out to try and catch the honey right beside his mouth. Maybe it’s the fact that they’ve fucked a grand total for four times in one night and one morning, maybe it’s the familiarity that he’s settling alarmingly fast into, but Johnny’s body skips listening to his brain and just moves on his own. 

Doyoung lets him kiss the honey off the corner of his mouth, murmurs a soft word of “thanks” and doesn’t complain when Johnny presses his mouth to the point where his jaw meets his ear. He leans into Johnny’s lips, tilts his chin up to let Johnny continue kissing down his neck, eyes still fixed on his phone. 

So Johnny does that, remaining pancakes forgotten, satisfaction rising in his gut as his teeth nick a particularly sensitive spot right above Doyoung’s jaw and the younger just lets out something like a whimper. Suddenly, there are fingers in his hair, and Doyoung is staring down at him exasperatedly with his fork still sticking out his mouth. 

“For fuck’s sake, John, you literally just made me come like fifteen minutes ago.” 

Johnny grins up at him, in the same way that Doyoung calls his “you think you’re real smart and good-looking, and you know what, you’re right” smirk, and leans forward to press a kiss right over Doyoung’s pulse in his neck. “Well, at least one thing’s true hm? Stamina, check.” 

He feels Doyoung shudder under his lips before his throat vibrates with speaking. “Well, now I know Jaehyun wasn’t lying. You _are_ good in bed. Maybe you should put that on your resume. Maybe some random porn production company will scout you when they see it.” 

“Oh?” Johnny can’t help the elation that rises in his chest, the giddiness that comes with being _praised_ by Doyoung in bed. He tamps it down, crushing his feelings into a small ball and shoving it down his throat, instead choosing to kiss Doyoung’s pulse again. Doyoung’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he stutters a choked moan against one particular hickey that he had definitely revisited more than once with their sidetrack with the honey. He knows a competition and a jab when he hears one, especially with it coming from Doyoung. “So, I’ll put you down as my character reference? _For more details, contact Kim Dongyoung from Milliman Private Limited, New York Branch?_ ” 

Doyoung laughs, and Johnny’s heart soars with the way he can feel every tremor and reverberation of his skin, pressed intimately against Johnny’s lips. “Yeah. Should I add _enjoys having his hair pulled during sex_ when they call me up to verify your kinks?” 

There is a harder tug by Doyoung’s fingers and before Johnny can help himself, he pulls away from Doyoung’s neck and kisses him instead. Slow, languid, gentle, Doyoung’s pulse stuttering against his thumb as Johnny wraps a hand around his neck and pulls him closer and the fork clatters onto the plate. Doyoung opens his mouth eagerly, his fingers in Johnny’s hair twisting and pulling as he lets Johnny swallow his muffled moans as Johnny’s tongue finds one of the sensitive spots on the roof of his mouth. 

“I think, ah,” Doyoung gasps, his lips swollen, his voice breathless as Johnny releases his mouth and turns his attention back to his neck. He hasn’t let go of Johnny’s hair, and Johnny is suddenly overcome with the weirdest desire to have an out-of-body experience so that he can see how Doyoung’s slender fingers look like entwined in his dark red hair. He thinks it probably looks good, Doyoung’s hands are beautiful, like those Greek sculptures carved out of marble in museums. God, Johnny has thought about doing so many things with them. Kissing them, holding them, taking them into his mouth, and _oh_ , that last thought just makes his cock _jump_. 

“You think?” He manages, hands sliding under his shirt to thumb at Doyoung’s hip bones, and the younger just whines and arches fluidly up into his touch. Doyoung is delightfully sensitive, he has realised during their romps in the bed, in the shower, and most recently of course, up against the opposite side of the kitchen counter. He should have known, Doyoung is kind of ticklish, constantly complaining whenever Taeyong or Yuta try to hug him aggressively and generally whining about skinship all the time. So, during that time when they were backstage after the dance showcase, when Johnny had wrapped his arms around Doyoung’s waist to rest his chin on Doyoung’s shoulder, Yuta had shot him a weird look as Doyoung merely patted his cheek gently before telling Mark to pose beside his boyfriend for a picture. 

In bed though, Doyoung is almost eager for touch, constantly reaching for Johnny even when he’s fishing around for another condom, fingers circling Johnny’s pecs, warm palm splayed over his abs as he tugs Johnny’s earlobe between his teeth and tells him to hurry up and put the condom on. He had pushed Johnny up against the wall, under the shower that was supposed to clean them and get them ready for bed, slotted his fingers in between Johnny’s as he took Johnny’s cock into him inch by inch. 

As Johnny reversed their positions against the wall and leaned down to kiss Doyoung under the stream of hot water, he just couldn’t help staring at the way their hands were still tightly wound together, the friendship bracelet that Doyoung had gifted him for his birthday last year colliding with its matching pair on Doyoung’s wrist. In that moment, to his tunnel vision of _Doyoung, Doyoung, Doyoung_ , it almost looked like couple jewelry instead of just friendship bracelets, especially with the way Doyoung gasped his name into his mouth and urged him go harder because _I can take it, Johnny, god, use me. Make me feel it, make me feel_ you.

“I think,” Doyoung breathes, nails raking down Johnny’s back as Johnny thumbs over one of his nipples. “ _Oh_ , I think you'd be a pretty popular pornstar. You look really, _ah,_ _fucking_ good on camera. Better than watching some, _uh_ , random white dude, _fuck_ , who is obviously not gay, _holy shit_ , try and jerk someone younger off, oh my _god, John_.” 

“Man, that’s high praise coming from you,” and Johnny truly means it. He can’t help his smile, obvious against the marked skin of Doyoung’s shoulder even as he pulls and the popping of the buttons off his own shirt rings in his ears. Who even cares about that, when Doyoung is making the most _delicious_ sounds while moaning into his ear. Doyoung though, is scarily perceptive as always, and there is a sharp tug at his roots at the nape of his neck before Johnny’s quest to retrace the path of his teeth is rudely interrupted and Doyoung is staring down at him with that _same_ unreadable expression that was on his face as he watched Ten and Kun on the couch before heading to Johnny’s room that fateful day. 

“Doyoung? What’s wrong?” 

Doyoung stares at him for a bit, and Johnny’s brain just kind of melts and stops functioning for a bit as Doyoung frees his hair from the death grip that had previously been occupying the strands. The pads of his fingertips just gently glide across Johnny’s neck, sliding up his throat, ghosting gently over his jaw before Doyoung rests the tips of his index and middle fingers just at the swell of Johnny’s lips, right on the seam where it meets and curves down into his chin. 

“Nothing,” Doyoung murmurs, and his voice is soft, but too loud together with Johnny’s heartbeat deafeningly loud in his own ears. “Just, you’re really handsome, Johnny. I don’t think you realise that about yourself enough.” 

_You’re beautiful too,_ Johnny wants to shout back at him, wants to open his heart and tell Doyoung that he’s the most gorgeous person that he knows. _I’ve spent so much time thinking about how beautiful you are, both inside and out. I’m thinking it now, and now that I’ve seen your face when we fuck and after you come, and now I actually have an image of you all marked up with hickeys from my own mouth and of you in my clothes after sex, I don’t think I can ever get it out of my head. You’re even more beautiful like this, even though I can’t call you mine._

_Even if I want to. But I can’t. Because I don’t think you’ll like that._

But he doesn’t say that. Instead, he just keeps eye contact with Doyoung as he parts his lips and slowly takes Doyoung’s fingers into his mouth. There’s a shudder that ripples through Doyoung’s entire body as Johnny watches his eyes darken, and suddenly, that poignant, mysterious emotion sunken into Doyoung’s eyes is gone, replaced by an inherent hunger that goes straight to Johnny’s dick. 

“Oh,” is all that comes out of Doyoung’s mouth, faint and curious. Johnny presses his tongue against Doyoung’s beautiful, long fingers, and sucks, and _god_ , the sound that falls out of Doyoung’s mouth is absolutely _fucking_ music. 

“Dessert?” He murmurs around Doyoung’s fingers, eyes catching the way the younger’s cock twitches against the translucent fabric of his own dress shirt. Well, that’s one shirt Johnny can never repurchase again. He’s pretty sure that by some Pavlovian response, coupled with his brain’s single obsession with Doyoung, and his stupid _stupid_ feelings, he’ll probably pop a boner just seeing it in the store. What a shame, honestly, it was _the_ shirt that had landed him his big internship with The Art Institute of Chicago in the first place. Doyoung had bought that for him before the interview and all, made Johnny try it on before whipping out his own card at the cashier before Johnny had even reached for his own wallet. 

Doyoung swallows. “Yeah, in the bedroom? Show me what your mouth can do?” 

Of course, Johnny can’t say no. Not when Doyoung is looking down at him with a mix of emotions scattered across his face that Johnny cannot make sense of, no matter how hard he looks. Because Doyoung, under all the superficial things that Johnny knows about him and his difficult relationship with his mother and his family, has never been an open person. Johnny has spent nearly three years of weekend trips with Doyoung now, learning about his niche art preferences and weird food combinations that he delights in, but Doyoung is like the ocean to him. Deep, dark, mysterious, never-ending. Johnny is just a sailor hungry for knowledge, hungry to know Doyoung _more,_ and maybe Doyoung is a siren calling him to his death at the bottom of the dark depths of saltwater that threatens to crush his heart into smithereens under the overwhelming turbulent waves of his own feelings for Doyoung. 

But Johnny doesn’t care for now. He’s okay with it, he thinks. Having Doyoung like this, for a week, all to himself and no one else, is enough. He’s fine having Doyoung like a best friend, he’s sure of that. A best friend doing another best friend a favour - a favour that involves sex and pleasure with whispered words of affection and tender touches of intimacy thrown in between. It’s in the way that Doyoung kisses the corner of his mouth and promises to buy him a new shirt as Johnny rips it right off him before he pushes Doyoung onto the bed and hikes Doyoung’s legs up onto his shoulder and puts his mouth to good use in response to Doyoung’s challenge worded in a question. It’s in the way that Doyoung’s fingers slide into his hair, the way he _keeps_ calling Johnny’s name as his hips jerk up under Johnny’s hands, and definitely in the way that he presses his trembling legs closely to Johnny’s torso as he cries out and falls apart in pleasure, his fingers never easing their grip on Johnny’s hair and only pressing him _closer_. 

Somewhere along the weekends spent together, with all the skinship and allnighters and early breakfasts with Johnny’s spare toothbrush in Doyoung’s tiny bathroom, Johnny had thought that maybe, he didn’t want Doyoung just like a best friend. Maybe he wanted more than that, he’s not sure when that particular thought had taken root in his head and transformed into that smug little voice that cheers him on while Doyoung yanks him up with his grip still in Johnny’s hair to crush their mouths together and whimper _John, John, Johnny, god_ against his tongue, the taste of Doyoung searing itself into his taste buds tenfold as Doyoung pulls him closer still and kisses him like they are lovers, not best friends. 

It’s fine, he thinks, what they have right now, in Doyoung’s lakehouse, just the two of them. Doyoung’s still his best friend, even if he’s staring down at Johnny spread on his dark blue sheets with something like wonder in his eyes as Johnny takes his fingers into his mouth and Doyoung just _shivers_ deliciously all over, unable to look away even as his other hand reaches out to find Johnny’s cock blindly behind him. 

And Johnny’s okay with that. They’re best friends after all, and he is doing his best friend a favour. That’s what best friends do. 


	5. i am usually better when i lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, reading that comment in my email speculating about doyoung's feelings in this fic: ∑(O_O;) 
> 
> the next update might come much later since i'm going to start work next week. but, do not fear, there is a plot _and_ a plan. whether the plan goes through, is an entirely different matter. feel free to leave comments or things in my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/doivelyz) if you wanna share your thoughts and speculations on what will happen next.
> 
> a longer a/n than usual, but i just want to say that i am so _so_ immensely grateful for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks on this fic, the subscriptions too. i am so sorry for always taking so long to reply to all the comments, but i always read them whenever i get them in my emails, and they always make me so giddy and happy that people are actually enjoying this impulsive self-indulgent multi-chaptered thing that begun thanks to dearest [lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parayeet). thank you for all your lovely, lovely comments, whether it be on the plot, or the compliments on my writing, which honestly i think is nothing particularly special or outstanding. this fic purely started as a very self-indulgent exchange with lily (and if you haven't read her fics, click on the link above, or [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/parayeet)), and honestly every single time i write a new chapter, i always feel so out of my depth because i have never ever written anything like this before. thank you for following this, for commenting, for bookmarking, and for leaving a kudo. it truly means so much to me (╥﹏╥)
> 
> alright, sorry about that long sappy paragraph. hope you enjoy this chapter (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) 
> 
> (also if you haven't realised, this isn't beta-read because i live dangerously jk any mistakes will be fixed in the future)

“Do you want to go to the lake tomorrow?” 

Doyoung blinks at him owlishly over the forkful of pasta in his mouth. Johnny stares back at him, stabbing a cherry tomato onto his own fork before putting it into his mouth, refusing to break the eye contact. Doyoung sucks the pasta off his fork (carbonara, he had made it without any cream because _that’s a fucking abomination, Suh, you heathen Americans_ ), swallows noisily and blinks again exaggeratedly back at Johnny. 

“Say what now, Suh?” 

“Clean your ears, Doyoung,” he swirls up a forkful of pasta, linguine, not angel hair, because Doyoung hates that particular kind of pasta. He had called it too flimsy, too thin, and he had spent the first brunch their friend group had together judging Johnny for ordering angel hair as his pasta of choice with rose sauce. The first dinner that Johnny had with him in his tiny studio apartment, he had made rose pasta for the both of them, with garlic bread and a simple salad on the side. Doyoung had then looked Johnny dead in the eye and told him that under his roof, he refuses to eat angel hair, so Johnny better suck it up and eat the linguine drenched in rose sauce in front of him. Because he had made it from scratch with budget ingredients, and if Johnny didn’t want to eat it he could just starve. 

Of course Johnny ate it. He wasn’t going to turn down a free meal, or company with Doyoung. 

Johnny had never told anyone about his feelings for Doyoung, even the very first one, the superficial crush that he had developed the moment he laid eyes on Doyoung sitting on his shared dorm room with Ten, surrounded by papers with thick heavy glasses on his nose, his face scrunched up in a scowl as he watched Ten and Johnny stumble through the door and fall to the ground in a giggling heap. In that drunken haze, Johnny had thought Doyoung was a beautiful angel, a very angry one, judging by his furrowed brows and disapproving line of his lips. But he had hauled Ten off Johnny, gotten his roommate into bed before tapping on Johnny’s shoulder and telling him to get into bed instead. 

Johnny had woken up with a killer headache, thanks to shots that he had thrown back like water the night before, in sheets that were not his own and his face smushed into the belly of a soft penguin plushie that he definitely did _not_ own. He had stared mutely at the gray and white plushie for five whole seconds before there was a tap on his shoulder and he had shrieked loudly before landing on the floor in a tangle of sheets that smelled like clean linen and cedar. Doyoung just stared down amusedly at him, bag of McDonalds in one hand, tray from Starbucks in the other, the tiniest smile on his face before he opened his mouth. 

_“Hey, didn’t get to introduce myself last night. I’m Doyoung, Ten’s roommate.You must be Johnny, right? Coffee? Breakfast?”_

Ten had woken up, vomited into the trash can that Doyoung had strategically placed beside his bed before reaching out to cling to Doyoung and proceeded to declare his love for his roommate in three different languages before emptying his guts out again. Doyoung had shoved them both into the shared bathroom with the room next door, produced a spare toothbrush and extra clothes for Johnny, and told them not to come out until they were clean. It took some fumbling of limbs, Ten had kissed Johnny under the hot water of the shower, and they returned to breakfast and coffee set up on the floor between the two beds while Doyoung scrolled through his phone. 

Johnny had just made out with Ten barely ten minutes ago, but seeing Doyoung giggle as he swiped upwards on his phone made his heart do a little skip in his chest. They had eaten breakfast there on the floor, Ten draping his limbs all over Johnny as Doyoung cut up the pancakes, downed his Starbucks and proceeded to leave in a whirlwind of papers and dark blue. One week later, Ten had asked him out, Johnny had agreed, and they had kissed and kissed in the dim lights of Ten’s dorm room with Doyoung’s penguin plushie as their only witness on the empty bed across from them. 

Ten wasn’t Johnny’s first serious relationship, but he was the first one who asked to stay friends after they had broken up. Johnny had been far too invested in the relationship, in his own opinion, too in love with Ten, so he had stupidly agreed. Then he had decided to go bar-hopping himself after _that_ particular bad decision, gotten smashed off his face, and proceeded not to remember anything until he woke up face-to-face with a familiar gray penguin plushie that he hasn’t seen for a while. 

Doyoung was waiting in the small kitchen, Starbucks and McDonalds on the table before him, eyes glued to his phone. _There’s a spare toothbrush in the toilet_ , he had told Johnny, _puke and whatever, then come out for breakfast. There’s a set of spare clothes on the towel rack._

Johnny had obeyed him dutifully, brain empty and blank from a combination of alcohol and heartbreak before sliding into the empty seat in front of Doyoung. Maybe it was the coffee, maybe it was the repressed feelings in his gut, but Johnny didn’t know when his tears had started sliding into the dark liquid of his Americano. Doyoung had merely hooked his ankle around Johnny’s, cut up the pancakes in front of him, drizzled honey all over them before reaching out to hold Johnny’s hand as Johnny cried into his coffee in his kitchen, dressed in Doyoung’s old sleep clothes and his breath smelling of Doyoung’s minty toothpaste. 

It was a cycle, a toxic cycle that Johnny didn’t want to admit to back then. He would get drunk, end up calling Doyoung, who always came to pick him up and tuck him into his own bed, and then cry into the coffee Doyoung had bought him at the kitchen table with Doyoung’s hand wrapped around his. Doyoung never scolded him, never judged him, just squeezed his hand in the unspoken message of _it’s fine to cry, John, it’s alright, I’m here_ as he cut the pancakes up for Johnny and made sure that food went into Johnny’s mouth. 

Johnny had stopped crying eventually. Time does heal wounds, he supposes, but he’s not sure when a new gash had opened up in his heart. One with Doyoung’s name on it, as Doyoung smiled at him over the rose linguine that evening and asked him if he had any plans on the upcoming weekend, and whether he was opposed to going to underground art shows. 

That is the story of how Johnny had said yes for the first time to Doyoung. 

And then, he had continued to say yes. That’s how weekends with Doyoung had begun, and somehow this has ended up in a week-long sex vacation in a house too big for the both of them, carbonara linguine pasta half-eaten and their mugs of grapefruit tea half-empty. 

“What do you propose we do at the lake?” 

Johnny shrugs. “I don’t know. We could play around in the water, I wanna swim a bit I guess. It will be a good workout of sorts. The water is beautiful, don’t wanna let it go to waste.” 

Doyoung stares at him, fork stabbed into the remainder of the pasta on his plate. “A workout? You gotta be serious, Johnny. That round of morning sex wasn’t enough? God, I will never understand you gym buffs.” 

“You gym buffs?” Johnny raises one eyebrow as he lifts more pasta to his mouth. “Which other gym buffs have you fucked?” 

Doyoung hums, pushing his food around on his plate. “Jaehyun, I slept with him a few times before he got the balls to ask Yong out. Also Jinyoung-hyung? For a bit in the middle of year two. He wasn’t as bad as Jae, but man he did send very nice selfies when he was at the gym. Good things come out of it I guess?” 

The pasta suddenly tastes ashy in Johnny’s mouth, but he chews mechanically and swallows it anyway. Right, Doyoung had his fair share of boys that he slept with, on and off. Doyoung never did serious relationships in the entire four years of university, but there was certainly never a lack of men lining up to sleep with him, and Johnny can’t blame them. He has seen Doyoung all dressed up for parties before, no matter how rare the sight. Slicked back hair, eyes lined with glitter and black, form-fitting jeans and shiny leather jacket with a choker around his neck - Doyoung is a sight to behold. Especially when his jacket is pushed off his shoulders to reveal his arms and the sleeveless tee underneath, his lips swollen from kissing as he leans down to whisper in Jinyoung’s ear while the senior reaches around to palm his ass. 

Being best friends means seeing more of Doyoung that he thinks is good for his heart, even if they always had the weekends reserved for each other. One night, Johnny had passed out on Doyoung’s couch, tired out from setting up his corner at the photography exhibition and juggling the extension of his gallery internship. He had been woken up by a soft crash, probably by someone bumping into the small table beside Doyoung’s door, followed by muffled giggles and wet sounds that sounded a lot like kissing. Then, there was a sound that _definitely_ came from Doyoung’s throat; soft, sinful, laden with pleasure as his partner did whatever that made him utter that _moan_ again before they were stumbling to Doyoung’s bedroom and the door clicked shut behind them. 

It was the night that Johnny learnt that Doyoung is not very quiet in bed. He could have done a lot of things, including sneaking out of Doyoung’s apartment and going back to his own room, or even stealing a sleeping pill out of Doyoung’s stash in the top drawer of the dresser beside the couch and just passing out after that. But Johnny had done none of that. For some goddamn reason, he had just laid there, eyes wide open in the darkness, listening as Doyoung’s bed creaked and its owner had cried and gasped for his partner to go _harder_ , _harder, please, sir_ , all while Johnny’s cheek was pressed into the soft tummy of one familiar gray penguin plushie on the couch just inches away from that goddamned door. 

Johnny shouldn’t be feeling jealous now, he thinks, now that Doyoung has moaned those same words in his ear and that his own cock has been down Doyoung’s throat. But there is something that settles in his gut, something that makes Doyoung’s impeccable cooking taste like the acrid leftovers of cigarettes on his tongue. Doyoung’s attractive, he’s well aware of that, and given his past reputation of being a fuckboy he should hardly be complaining. But it still sits there, the green ugly feeling of jealousy, lodged in the back of his throat like a particularly large mouthful of food that he can’t swallow, all because he is a masochistic slip of a man who had listened his best friend cry out in orgasm more than once at the hands of a stranger through the walls while he was in the next room. 

But he swallows it down for now, tries to ignore the leaden feeling of dread pooling at the bottom of his gut, forces his mouth to curve up in a smile as he gathers another portion of pasta on his fork even though his appetite is completely gone. 

“But, yeah, back to the original question, shall we go swimming in the lake tomorrow?” 

Doyoung heaves an exaggerated sigh before Johnny feels a dull thud of pain shoot through his shin. He stares impassively at the younger man, who merely shoves lettuce in his mouth, chewing on it aggressively and the sight just looks so much like a bunny that Johnny feels weirdly warm in his chest, especially when Doyoung hooks their ankles together. 

“Whatever you want, you plan it.”

\-- 

Okay, so, maybe swimming in the lake is a bad idea. 

Doyoung looks sinful like this, black tee pressed tightly to his skin thanks to it being thoroughly soaked through. He’s lounging at the edge of the lake now, threading water gently with his back towards Johnny, eyes taking in the background of the house, the brilliant green and dark brown of the woods sharing a jagged border with the clear blue of the sky. Johnny had swum out a bit further, having tried to annoy Doyoung into coming with him, but the younger had rebuffed his whines with hooded eyes and the excuse that he was still sore. _Thanks to you, of course._

So Johnny had just rolled his eyes, slipped into a butterfly stroke with the intention of willing his blood to flow away from his dick. He could still feel Doyoung’s eyes on him back then, burning into the back of his neck as he worked his way through the water to the middle of the lake. 

He’s lounging idly in the middle of the water now, a clear blue, like the marbles that Doyoung keeps in a jar on the kitchen counter in his apartment. He can vaguely see the marks peeking out over the collar of Doyoung’s shirt at this distance, fading gently now that he hadn’t gotten to renew them. Doyoung had laughed when he had absent-mindedly gravitated towards his neck while they were cuddling last night, dug his fingers into Johnny’s neck to pull him away before telling Johnny that it’s now _his_ turn to use his mouth on Johnny. _Tit for tat_ , he had whispered, before sliding down in between Johnny’s legs and taking Johnny’s zipper in between his teeth. He must have planned this, Johnny had realised belatedly back then, given how Doyoung had thrust a pair of jeans in his direction after he had exited the bathroom following their afternoon romp in the laundry room. Doyoung is sneaky like that, making sure Johnny plays directly into his hand so that he gets his way. Or maybe Johnny is just weak for him, brain stupid from infatuation, heart overriding rationality, too enamoured by Doyoung to actually question what he is actually doing.

But Johnny trusts Doyoung with his life. He has said it before to Doyoung, under white light of his laptop screen as the credits of _Skyfall_ roll before them. _Maybe in an alternate universe I’d be James Bond, and you’ll be my Q,_ he had told Doyoung thoughtfully, _I’ll be the brawns and you’ll be the brain. You always did look better in glasses_. Doyoung had snorted, not moving from where he had half his face pressed against Johnny’s chest (right above his heart), and told Johnny that _you’d definitely be double oh material, for sure, you’re good looking enough_. 

_I’d trust you as my Q though,_ he remembers telling Doyoung, the weight of Doyoung’s arm warm across his stomach. _I’d trust you with my life_. 

Doyoung had looked up at him, the tiniest smile on his face before he pressed his face fully into Johnny’s chest and murmured a response sleepily back. 

_Yeah, I’d trust you with my life too, no question about that_. 

“Johnny, will you come back, you big gym buff?” 

Doyoung is staring at him from where he is perched on the edge of the platform of the house that meets the lake. He’s looking at Johnny again with that same inscrutable expression on his face, the same one that had overtaken him as he stared down at Johnny at the kitchen counter, the exact same one he was wearing as he watched Kun lean up to kiss Ten on the couch. Sure, Johnny’s eyesight is still a bit blurry despite his Lasik surgery, and the sun is a little too bright in his eyes, but he always had Doyoung-tunnel-vision somehow. Doyoung’s face is sharp even in against the glaring yellow of the sun, and the way he’s looking at Johnny just makes his heart flip in his chest. 

In that moment, Johnny wants to shout _I love you_ right across the water. Maybe it will bounce across the surface like those rocks skipping across the water, hit Doyoung in the heart like an arrow released from Cupid’s bow, and _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , Doyoung will fall in love with him. _Kiss kiss fall in love_ , he can almost hear Yuta’s annoying voice in the back of his mind, 

(Maybe Doyoung will say it back to him. _I love you too, John_.) 

But that’s just a dumb fantasy, Johnny thinks, so he just grins back at Doyoung before diving back into the water to swim back dutifully to his companion lounging gracefully against the varnished wooden edge of the platform. Like a siren reclining on the edge of the island, Johnny thinks faintly as he regulates his breathing with his strokes. Doyoung definitely has the vocals to be a siren if he wants, and the visuals as well, luring men to their untimely death on the rocks with his crystal-clear vocals and beautiful delicate face. 

Johnny has known for a while that his feelings, his heart for Doyoung, has been heading for the jagged rocks of heartbreak. One straight line, no curves, no reroutes; just slight delays that have decelerated the journey because of the lines of best-friend and more-than-friends being blurred with hand-holding, spending weekends together, and cuddling up against each other in Doyoung’s queen-sized bed after eating dinner in Doyoung’s tiny kitchen. Maybe it’s a trainwreck waiting to happen, but Johnny likes to think that maybe, it will just never happen. 

Because before Johnny had feelings for Doyoung, they were friends first. To Johnny, Doyoung is a friend that he never wants to lose, even if it means swallowing his feelings down into his gut and silencing that dumb smug voice lurking inside his head every single time Doyoung twists their fingers together or presses a kiss to Johnny’s cheek. 

He throws his head back, slicking his hair back as he makes his way towards Doyoung, who is resting on his elbows against the platform edge. Johnny grins at the younger man, watching him closely as Doyoung eyes him up and down with his tongue peeking out of his mouth. 

“Yes, your highness?” 

Doyoung rolls his eyes, tilting his head back a little, and Johnny is again hopelessly distracted by the pale arch of his throat and the fading hickies littered across it. “Come here, you oaf.” 

Johnny follows obediently, and his hand is still in his wet hair as Doyoung grabs him by the neck and presses their mouths together. 

There’s nothing hungry about this kiss. It is unlike the many kisses that they have shared the past few days - those were hungry, full of intent to fuck and mark, driven by a deep-seated lust that Johnny has done his best to keep at by whenever he was around Doyoung who liked to wear oversized shirts to bed, the kind where the collar just slips off his shoulder to reveal his chiseled collarbones and unmarked skin. Doyoung kisses aggressively, with the same intensity that he studies with, with the same ferocity that blazes in his eyes whenever he’s faced with a particularly hard question that he is struggling to answer. His single-minded passion is one of the many things Johnny has grown to love about him, one of the traits that is so intrinsically _Doyoung_ , that Johnny believes that if someone claims to love Doyoung, but not his intensity, the person probably doesn’t even know Doyoung at all. 

It’s one of the many things about Doyoung Johnny loves. There’s a list that Johnny keeps in his head, a list titled _Things about Doyoung I love_ , and right at the top, number one on the list, is just two words, three syllables. 

_(1. Kim Doyoung)_

Doyoung kisses him gently, close-mouthed and tender, his thumb gentle against Johnny’s pulse in his neck. His other arm reaches around to sling around Johnny’s neck loosely, pulling him closer as Johnny automatically reaches for his waist. He kisses Doyoung back, slow and measured, as Doyoung pushes his hair back with his own fingers and parts his own lips to let Johnny slide their tongues together. There’s nothing hurried about it, nothing particularly arousing either, and Johnny just lets his eyelids slide shut as Doyoung nibbles gently at his lower lip before kissing him again. And again. And again. 

“Hey,” Johnny murmurs against Doyoung’s lips, eyes barely open, and Doyoung hums back, eyes still closed. Doyoung looks absolutely _gorgeous_ like this, soft and open, cheeks flushed a tender pink from the heat of the late morning sun and lips swollen from kissing. They are pressed close, so close together, and Doyoung’s hand travels down Johnny’s arm before his thumb gently strokes over the sunflower that he had gotten tattooed during the summer break after the end of their third year. 

_“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo, a sunflower? Maybe?”_

_Doyoung didn’t look up from his studying on the coffee table. “So long you can afford it, I’m not going to stop you, John.”_

_“You’re not going to ask why a sunflower?”_

_Doyoung waves a hand vaguely, fingers pushing his fringe back as he has a staring contest with the past-year paper in front of him. Specifically, question four. He has been doing that for about ten minutes now, Johnny has realised, his brows knitted together in frustration and about ten lines of workings crossed out in front of him as he taps his pen in an erratic rhythm. Johnny just wants to kiss his forehead, smooth out the lines of frustration from his face, take Doyoung’s face into his hands and kiss him against the secondhand couch gotten off Craigslist. Fuck the question, he wants to say, you’ll figure it out in the morning. Right now you’re tired and overworked and you need sleep after I order chicken and get some food in both of us._

_“Positivity right, always facing the light, always seeking the sun. Resilience.” Doyoung sighs before faceplanting right into the struck-out workings on the paper before him. “You’ve been talking about it for a while, John. I’m surprised it took you this long to decide that you want to get a tattoo of it.”_

_Doyoung does know him very well. He pays attention to everything that Johnny says, despite sometimes looking like he doesn’t. Doyoung’s good at that, dividing his brain between concentrating on studying or whatever he’s working on, with giving his friends the emotional attention and advice that they need. He’s the one everyone goes to whenever they need advice, or even just a shoulder to cry on. He has even caught Mark with Doyoung in the cafeteria before, fudge chocolate cake in between them as Doyoung spoke quickly, but carefully while Mark listened with wet eyes and picked at the cake slice. After that, they had walked out, Doyoung’s arm around the younger boy, Mark leaning into the elder, leaving behind crumpled tissues piled neatly on an empty plate._

_“Will you follow me to my appointment? To hold my hand. I heard it hurts.”_

_Doyoung sighs again, insufferably so, but the sound is comforting to Johnny’s ears as the younger finally looks up at him from his spot at the coffee table. He just watches Johnny for a bit, eyes searching Johnny’s face, before he straightens up and starts gathering his papers._

_“Just let me know the date. Also, you’re paying for chicken today.”_

The tattoo artist had referred to Doyoung as his boyfriend. Before Johnny could open his mouth to correct him, Doyoung had squeezed their entwined hands, smiled lightly at the artist, and thanked him for the compliment. Johnny had tapped his card to pay, walked back Doyoung’s apartment with their hands still clasped together, and watched dazedly as the younger went about making teriyaki chicken _gimbap_ in his tiny kitchen with the same crazy efficiency that he attacks every single task with. 

Later that night, Doyoung had traced the edges of Johnny’s fresh tattoo covered in medical wrap, eyes soft and tender and said thank you to Johnny. 

_“For what?”_

_Doyoung smiled, half of his face hidden by shadows. “For asking me to be there. It’s beautiful, Johnny. It suits you so much. Thank you for letting me be there to witness it, for letting me share that special moment with you.”_

“Want to head to the bed?” 

Doyoung shakes his head, his breath warm over Johnny’s lips as he leans up and kisses all the thoughts bouncing around in Johnny’s head out again. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t move to do anything else, just opens his mouth to Johnny’s insistent tongue again as his thumb barely skims over the sunflower on Johnny’s arm. It’s healed for a long time now, but Johnny thinks it’s warm, flaring up gently under Doyoung’s tender touch. Doyoung’s body is so warm, so close, pressed up against his as he pushes Johnny’s wet fringe away from his forehead and his fingers linger at the nape of Johnny’s neck. 

“Nah,” he murmurs against Johnny’s lips, so warm, so close. “Just wanna kiss you.” 

And _oh,_ Johnny is just soft. There’s no other to describe it. Maybe there is, but right now there’s no other word that comes to his head. Not when Doyoung is in his arms, pliant and loose, thumb pressed tenderly against Johnny’s sunflower tattoo, his forehead warm against Johnny’s own with his lips still barely brushing against Johnny’s. Doyoung fits in his arms like he belongs there, like Johnny is his _boyfriend_ , his _lover_. Not his best friend that he asked for a favour from, not a temporary hook-up arrangement lasting only for a week. 

Doyoung just wants to kiss him now. Johnny just wants to kiss him too. 

“Okay,” he whispers back against Doyoung’s mouth. 

Doyoung just wraps his arms around Johnny’s neck and kisses him again as the sun rises higher in the sky and turns the blue of the lake into a dazzling white. 


	6. we had dreams that we could fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks away because i really bumped up the rating for ONE chapter i really should have known 
> 
> this chapter is dedicated to [kei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_kei/pseuds/n_kei) for reading my fics in like one night idk how she did it and for being the loveliest person ever and commenting on almost all of them Q^Q she is so precious, and she writes the _best_ jaeyong so if you havent read [uneasy coexistence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306620) please click the link. i will not shut up about this fic (and maybe johndo from this fic, but that's just me ; w ;)
> 
> also, another special shoutout to [adri](https://twitter.com/jyandoie), my no.1 hypewoman, the only person with access to the google doc, but till comes here to leave kudos and comments. i dont deserve all my readers, honestly, but i dont deserve you the most <3 
> 
> as usual, i hope all you lovely people enjoy this chapter, especially lily. i was in my Feelings writing this. ( ´ ω ` )ノﾞ
> 
> (if you spot the references to canon johndo in this chapter, you get a virtual hug from me)

When Johnny comes out of the shower, towel wrapped around his head and the faintest taste of Doyoung still on his tongue, there is no dinner on the table. 

Oh, this _has_ got to be a fucking joke. 

“Doyoung?” He calls carefully, hand stuck in a tangle of his hair and towel, cautiously eyeing the small bag of food waste sitting on the kitchen counter. Doyoung had started on dinner before he went into the shower, actually, even before Johnny had climbed out of the lake. 

Doyoung had kissed Johnny senseless, sucked all the remnants of his sanity and thoughts right out of his head with his tongue, before reluctantly pulling away and telling him that he should get started on dinner. Johnny couldn’t help himself, so he pulled Doyoung closer for one last kiss, the skin of Doyoung’s neck hot under his palm, and connected their lips in one last chaste gentle brush before he pulled away and sunk under the water in an unnecessarily dramatic splash. He wants to attribute his burning cheeks and thrumming heart to the heat of the midday sun washing across the lake, but the cool water doesn’t do anything to alleviate the symptoms as Doyoung’s delighted laugh echoes in his ears. 

“Doyoung?” He adjusts his sweatpants, catches sight of himself in the reflective surface of the glass of the cabinets. Man, Doyoung had done a pretty decent job marking up his neck. Not as good or as obvious as the marks by his own teeth on Doyoung’s of course, but still. There is something warm fluttering in the pits of Johnny’s stomach, something that makes his heart twist in a tender, but painful way in his chest as he inspects the hickies littering his skin. 

There is a tap on his shoulder and Johnny barely swallows the shriek in his throat. 

“Jesus, John,” Doyoung is frowning at him, a bottle of wine in his hands. He’s dressed formally, Johnny realises, periwinkle button-up with a plain white cravat loose and undone around its collar, the silver shine of his belt buckle catching the light as he moves. His slacks are immaculately pressed, fitting him perfectly, and Johnny feels the dull thud of his heart in his chest as he catches the glint of their matching friendship bracelets on his wrist. 

“What are you so dressed up for?” He realises that Doyoung has styled his hair too, in that comma style that he knows frames his face well, highlights the sharp planes of his cheekbones and browbones. “Is today some weird anniversary or celebration that I forgot about?” 

Doyoung raises one eyebrow. “Must we need a reason to do everything?” 

Johnny doesn’t miss the way that Doyoung’s eyes linger on the marks on his neck, particularly on the darker one sitting right on top of his collarbone. “I dunno, you always have a reason for things like this. Thought I forgot something.” 

Doyoung smiles at him, soft and gentle, and reaches past Johnny to grab the bottle opener on the counter. “You couldn’t forget even if you tried, John. You were the one who always remembered everything. Birthdays, showcase dates, even the last day of our internships.” 

He’s not wrong, Johnny knows that. He has a memory for these kinds of things, dates, numbers and stuff. He knows Doyoung’s number by memory, Ten’s and Jaehyun’s too, Doyoung’s birthday and Doyoung’s address and all the dates of Doyoung’s qualification examinations, written down in a small post-it folded into fours in Johnny’s wallet. He remembers Doyoung’s favourite matcha latte and Earl Grey cream cake, remembers that the cafe that has it is only fifteen minutes away from the examination centre, remembers that Doyoung usually takes the bus there because he is usually too anxious to drive.

So he waits for Doyoung in front of the centre every single examination date, making up excuses to other friends and colleagues that pretty much didn’t make sense. He watches Doyoung stumble out of the doors, eyelids nearly drooping shut as he drops the thick stack of notes into the recycling bin near the entrance. Every single time, Doyoung’s eyes find his, and the smile that stretches his haggard face always sends Johnny’s heart haywire as Doyoung makes a beeline towards him and falls into his arms just like that. 

Johnny thinks that maybe they are like opposing ends of a magnet, south and north. Regardless of the crowd, they would find each other regardless, eyes drawn to each other’s faces, Doyoung’s head in the crook of Johnny’s neck with Johnny’s arm automatically wrapping around his waist. Like puzzle pieces, like a lock clicking shut, like two halves becoming whole. 

_Like soulmates_. 

“Dress up, John,” Doyoung smiles at him, eyes lingering on the naked expanse of his broad chest. “There’s an outfit on the bed, if you missed it. Put it on, come to dinner on the platform overlooking the lake.” 

\-- 

Johnny knows he looks good in suits, pressed and starched crisply, with a thin necktie and form-fitting pants. He can never resist adding a little glam and glitz here and there though. Shiny earrings, maybe a shiny collar pin, maybe some special cufflinks. Doyoung has picked out a really nice tie for him for this occasion, dark red, with a silver tie pin in the shape of an infinity symbol nestling snugly against the silky material. 

He wonders when Doyoung had the time to get this for him, the suit included. He’s not surprised Doyoung has his measurements, but this particular suit feels too expensive, too customised to be brought from a store. Johnny doesn’t want to dwell too much on it. _Overthinking will kill you, dude,_ Jaehyun had offered blandly over a can of Coors, face tucked into Taeyong’s neck. Right, like Jung Jaehyun isn’t that dude who overthinks everything; he had spent way too much time dreaming of scenarios involving Taeyong before he even asked Doyoung’s childhood friend out. Pot calling kettle black, Johnny thinks, as he adjusts his collar and stares at himself in the mirror. He _does_ look good. 

The clack of his dress shoes is loud against the varnished surface of the wooden platform, and Doyoung looks up from where he’s been setting the table. There’s a portable gas stove, turned on low heat while the delicious smell of _dakgalbi_ reaches Johnny’s nose, small plates set on either side with wine glasses sitting alongside glasses of water. He whistles softly as Johnny approaches the table with a sheepish smile on his face, keeping an eye on the steaming cast iron set right in the centre of the table. 

“It fits you really well,” Doyoung murmurs softly, eyes raking over his entire body appreciatively, and Johnny can’t tamp down the voice in his head that preens at the praise. “Look at you, Mister Junior Curator at the The Art Institute of Chicago, all dressed the part, ready to address the audience at the opening of the first show that you curated.” 

Johnny laughs, awkward and choked, as Doyoung adjusts his collar and gently pulls his tie up. He smooths his hands over Johnny’s blazer, the heat of his palms burning through the expensive smooth fabric of the custom-tailored piece into Johnny’s skin before he smiles up at Johnny, wide and open. 

“Come on, dinner’s ready. Fret not, there’s leftover rice from yesterday so we will have fried rice once you finish more than half of the chicken I’ve spent the whole day marinating.”

“Are we seriously drinking a Domaine Leroy with fucking _dakgalbi_?” 

Doyoung’s smile is all teeth and mischief, his eyes glinting in the orange of the late evening sun. “Yep. 1994.” 

Johnny gasps dramatically, hand over his heart, as he watches Doyoung fill up their wine glasses. He reaches for the spatula in the cast-iron pan, stirs the chicken around in the sauce for a bit as Doyoung sets the _very_ expensive bottle of wine aside and raises his glass towards Johnny. It’s like they are on a date, Johnny realises, dressed to the nines, expensive watches on their wrists, drinking fancy expensive wine which probably costs more than Johnny’s entire bank account balance. Except that they are eating _dakgalbi_ , Korean spicy stir-fried chicken, made with the secret sauce only Doyoung knows, heated on a portable gas stove overlooking the tranquil pale blue waters of the lake slowly being stained a deep burnt orange by the sun. 

_It’s the date of your dreams,_ the voice in his head reminds him gleefully, and Johnny has nothing to refute it with. He has always wanted to take Doyoung on a fancy date, maybe to that fancy restaurant in that hotel in Seoul, in Lotte World Tower, the one that earned a Michelin star. Maybe he would take Doyoung there every single year, laugh over expensive Korean fine dining and wine together while looking over the brilliant night view beneath them. Maybe, just _maybe_ , on the fifth year after starting this fancy annual date, he would finally muster up the courage to get down on one knee, reach for a box hidden in his breast pocket, and ask Doyoung to spend the rest of his life together with him as husband and husband. 

This isn’t Lotte World Tower, and there is no Michelin-star restaurant with exorbitant prices on the menu. They only have _dakgalbi_ , but there is expensive wine, a view to die for, and Doyoung is opposite him, smiling with that twinkle in his eye and looking oh _so_ dashing in his lavender shirt and white cravat. Johnny just picks up his own glass, leans forward to clink their glasses together and forces himself to stay glued to his chair instead of leaning forward to kiss Doyoung over the steaming pan of _dakgalbi_ on the portable stove. 

“What’s the occasion? Why are we drinking expensive wine with _dakgalbi_ again?” 

Doyoung shrugs with one shoulder as he puts his lips to the rim of his glass. “No occasion. Maybe a belated graduation celebration, perhaps? Congratulations to both of us, graduated with first-class honours, having signed contracts for full-time jobs. To us, we made it. Together.” 

Something in Johnny trembles at that word. _Together. Forever. In sickness and in health. Till death do us apart. To love and to cherish_. He swallows down that lump in his throat, eyes the bracelet peeking out of the starched blue cuff of Doyoung’s shirt. 

“Together.” It’s a miracle his voice doesn’t shake. The alcohol is smooth down his throat, but there is still a burn at the bottom of his guts that has nothing to do with the ridiculous price tag that came with this bottle. 

Doyoung ladles a portion of chicken onto his plate, nudging the wraps and side dishes in his direction before helping himself. He hums as he puts together a wrap - chicken, onion, pickled radish, kimchi and some _ssamjang_ before wrapping everything up into a nice round ball. Johnny barely has time to blink before the wrap is in his mouth, Doyoung already starting on another one as he picks up some grilled kimchi from the pan. 

“Better eat up, John. If not you won’t get the fried rice you keep whining about.” 

There is a ball stuck in Johnny’s throat even after he swallows the lettuce wrap and follows it up with wine. Maybe it’s the way Doyoung looks tonight, all dressed up in a nice formal shirt with his hair styled like that and the clip-on earrings that nestled in the curve of his ear. Maybe it’s the food, which is of course, undoubtedly good, the wine making it even better, as Doyoung cuts the chicken up even smaller and eats a mouthful wrapped in a particularly long piece of kimchi. Maybe it’s the tender way Doyoung wipes away the sauce at the corner of his mouth with his fingers and licks it off thoughtlessly after, unaware of the way Johnny’s eyes follow his actions like a homing missile keeping track of its destination. 

_(Maybe it’s the soundlessness of his own heart breaking into a million pieces, helpless against the cruel jagged rocks of rejection and heartbreak. Maybe it’s the knowledge that Doyoung will never be his, no matter how much he dreams and dreams and thinks and thinks.)_

Johnny doesn’t say anything. But there’s food, and Doyoung did promise him fried rice. So he just makes his own wrap and ignores the way flowers bloom in his chest when Doyoung smiles at him as Johnny feeds him mouthfuls of chicken and lettuce. 

\-- 

“You look sexy with your hair pushed back.” 

Johnny blinks, head heavy with wine and feelings that he has shoved to the back of his head and tried to ignore for about three years now. “Did you just pull a _Mean Girls_ on me?” 

Doyoung stares back at him, his collar unbuttoned and loose, tongue playing with the rim of his wine glass and Johnny tries _very_ hard _not_ to look. He fails, but Doyoung doesn’t appear to be particularly attentive, doesn’t really call him out for it. “What? I’m not wrong though. You know that you look sexy with your hair pushed back. That’s why you style it like that for interviews.” 

“Careful now,” Johnny grins, lifting his own glass to his lips. “My secret’s going to be out. No one needs to know that I secured my full-time position as Junior Curator with my dashing good looks, with my slicked-back hair being the key element to success. 

Doyoung laughs, and the sound is unabashed and free, echoing off the calm empty waters that are now a mixture of dark blue and black with a wobbly strip of white-yellow courtesy of the moonlight. “It’s not a secret if everyone knows, John. You _are_ handsome. But you are also competent, smart, and hardworking. _That’s_ the secret that no one knows.” 

Johnny doesn’t know how to respond to that. So he just stares at Doyoung, the alcohol making him braver than usual ( _or stupider, his brain supplies_ ), distracted by the way the younger’s lips are shiny from the wine and the faint peppering of hickies that are barely visible under the dim moonlight and the shadows of his unbuttoned collar. 

Doyoung catches him, of course. “What?” 

Johnny shakes his head, ducks his head and stares at the dregs of Domaine Leroy in his own glass. “Nothing. You’re smart too, you know. The smartest person I know. The most hardworking. The best person I know, honestly.” 

It’s Doyoung’s turn to be silent, and he’s staring at Johnny with a myriad of emotions swirling in the depths of his dark eyes. Johnny feels naked under his gaze, heavy and somber despite the alcohol running through their veins, and suddenly Doyoung’s hand is on his thigh and he’s leaning up into Johnny’s face, warm breath ghosting over Johnny’s jaw and he says something that Johnny’s wine-addled brain misses completely. 

“Huh?” is all that he offers intelligently. 

Doyoung laughs, and Johnny’s mind melts a little more. “I said, I’m cold.” 

Johnny frowns. “That’s your own fault, you know you get cold easily. You know it gets cold out here on the platform at night, but you suggested eating here and you didn’t prepare a cardigan or a blazer or a jacket. That’s your own fault, Doie.” 

The nickname falls off his tongue easily enough, but Johnny is painfully aware of how his chest clenches when Doyoung pouts up at him, cheeks puffed out and lips shiny and pushed out. His hand on Johnny’s thigh tightens in a squeeze as he shuffles closer to Johnny on the platform. 

They are sitting here, legs slung over the edge of the platform, socks and shoes off as their toes barely skim the still surface of the lake. Johnny is taller, of course, and the water is cold against the balls of his feet as Doyoung presses his shoulder against Johnny’s side. 

“This is the part where you offer me your blazer, like a gentleman.” 

Johnny blinks owlishly down at Doyoung, his brain whirring at a thousand kilometers an hour as the younger man presses closer, his shoulders jerking in a shudder as he does so, and even through the layers Johnny can tell that he isn’t lying. Doyoung _does_ get cold quite easily; that is the main reason for what Johnny calls his “cardigan/sweater collecting addiction”. However, somewhere between their second and third year, Johnny was pretty much living in Doyoung’s tiny studio ( _you might as well pay_ me _rent, not Ten. I swear to fucking god, John_ ) with his own drawer full of clothes and his hoodies hung up beside Doyoung’s cardigans. One morning, he had rolled off where he had fallen asleep on Doyoung’s couch, thanks to one particularly painful jab in his side. He had looked up into Doyoung’s unamused face, the owner of the couch holding a pan filled with _shakshuka_ ( _eggs in hell, also me in my mother’s womb knowing that I was going to be born into this shit world_ , Doyoung had grumbled, Johnny had laughed) in one hand and a plate full of toast in the other. 

_“Is that my hoodie?”_

_Doyoung blinks, looking down at the alphabets printed in the classic minimalist Vetement font across his chest before shrugging and placing the food down on the coffee table. On coasters, of course, because that’s how the rules go in Doyoung’s apartment._

_“I guess? Oops. Sorry.”_

_Doyoung doesn’t sound sorry at all. Johnny gathers himself into a sitting position, accepts a mug of coffee from Doyoung, and reaches for a piece of toast automatically as Doyoung sets a plate and cutlery in front of him. He watches Doyoung settle himself on the opposite side of the table, Johnny’s hoodie too big on him, faded pink hair messy and stark against the black fabric and feels the warmth settle in his veins and make itself at home under his skin._

_So Doyoung continues wearing Johnny’s shirts, his button-ups, his sweaters by accident. Always within the four walls of the tiny apartment, where the spare toothbrush used only by Johnny takes up permanent residence beside Doyoung’s own in the bathroom, where Doyoung and Johnny have a set of couple mugs in blue and red sitting beside each other on the drying rack in the kitchen. The apartment, with its lease signed under Doyoung’s name, but with bits and pieces of Johnny everywhere. Where Doyoung curls up under Johnny’s arm, wrapped in one of Johnny’s hoodies which are too big for him, the top of his head warm under Johnny’s chin as they watch Hospital Playlist on Netflix with English subtitles for Johnny’s benefit._

_“That’s not how you improve your Korean, John,” Doyoung always insisted as Johnny snapped open a can of green tea and handed it over without looking. Johnny hadn’t been bothered, or insulted in the least, as he popped the tab open on his own can of Coke and settled back against the couch, his arm looping around Doyoung on autopilot._

_“Think of it as you improving your English too,” he had said into Doyoung’s hair. Doyoung had snorted, but made no move to push away as his free hand crept under the hem of Johnny’s t-shirt to draw random patterns on his abs._

_“I take exams in English, John. I don’t need to read subtitles to improve.”_

_They kept the subtitles on anyway, for all twelve episodes._

Johnny shrugs off his jacket somehow, a miracle that it even comes off uncrumpled with how closely Doyoung is pressed against him. He drapes it over Doyoung’s shoulders, ignoring how all his unspoken words stick in his throat like a cloying chunk of caramel as he watches how the broader edges of his jacket envelope Doyoung and smooth away his sharp edges. He wraps an arm around Doyoung, inhaling deeply to calm the stutter of his traitorous heart as the younger man leans against him, stretching one leg across Johnny’s thigh as he makes himself at home at Johnny’s side. 

_Flashback to nights on Doyoung’s couch, both of them curled up, watching as Kim Junwan and Lee Iksun shared a pair of wireless earbuds together and listened to the same song with their hands entwined._

_“That’s peak adult romance right there,” Doyoung had said, his fingers cool against the skin of Johnny’s stomach under his shirt, long digits splayed out lazily across his abs._

_Johnny thinks about the time they went to Sapporo for five days during winter break in their second year. He has the photographs of Doyoung in his phone, wide gummy smile under a black beret stark against the flawless white snowlands that they had gone trekking through. The other side of his Airpods white and obvious against the black of Doyoung’s hair, IU singing in his left ear as Doyoung mouthed the lyrics and his breath came out in white._

_(I’ll wait for a long time, I will definitely find you. Even if you’re so far that I can’t see you.)_

“Happy now?” He manages, cheek pressed into Doyoung’s hair and his fingers finding the curve of Doyoung’s small waist automatically. 

Doyoung hums sleepily, turns his face up to press a kiss against Johnny’s pulse in his neck. 

“Very.” 

\-- 

“Are you excited to go back to Chicago to work?” 

Johnny hums, brain partly shut-down already, a combination of wine, food, and Doyoung’s clean scent smelling like a mix of fresh laundry and honey. They had cleaned up the food, done the dishes together, and took a quick shower. Now, they are both lying in bed, the new sheets a rich dark crimson that reminded Johnny vaguely of the time he dyed his hair red on a dare at a party. God, really, most of the bad decisions in his life were because of dares, thanks to Ten and Jaehyun who never knew when to shut the fuck up. 

“I guess,” he traces over Doyoung’s right wrist idly, feeling the other’s pulse under the pads of his fingers. “Closer to home, you know. I won’t be living with my parents, but at least I won’t need to get on a plane to go home. Just a thirty minute drive.” 

Doyoung nods in response, his eyes already half-closed. “You’re moving after me right, since your contract starts later in August.” 

“Yeah,” Johnny wonders where all the time has gone. Time wasted on partying, fucking people he didn’t know; time spent with Doyoung in his tiny studio apartment with homemade meals, time with Doyoung on weekend trips in underground art galleries and eating at food trucks that served the weirdest combinations of savory and sweet. They are adults now, _working adults_ , and for the first time in four years, Johnny is going to be apart from Doyoung, away from a place of familiarity that had nestled its way into Johnny’s chest and claimed his heart as its territory. 

“You’re still driving me to New York right. We already made plans to see the Vessel together. I’m not walking up that giant thing alone.” 

Johnny thinks about New York, thinks about Doyoung in New York. Doyoung, beautiful in his sharp pressed suits and his cold eyes and his professionalism when he works. He thinks about beautiful Doyoung, attracting eyes and attention in New York, thinks about the other men who would be brave enough to go up to Doyoung and ask him on a date. He thinks about other nameless, faceless men, sharing Doyoung’s bed in his apartment in New York, taking Doyoung on dates to Central Park and cute cafes, and the bitterness pools in the back of his mouth. 

Doyoung is moving to New York. Johnny is moving back to Chicago. 

They are moving away from each other. 

Johnny doesn’t trust his tongue, so instead, he just nods into Doyoung’s hair. All he gets is a hum in response, and Doyoung is pulling him closer, fingers gently tracing over the lines of the tattoo on Johnny’s lower back as his breath evens out with sleep taking over. 

With his eyes closed, Johnny only sees black. Honestly, he’s not really sleepy right now, despite his brain barely functioning. But somewhere in his chest, there is a tightness that threatens to suffocate him. If that doesn’t do the job, it would probably be the lingering bitterness that stains the back of his mouth, stuck to the walls of his throat like a spiderweb and threatening to choke Johnny with his own feelings that he has managed to ignore for the longest time. 

He needs to tell Doyoung. 

There’s a part of Johnny that is inherently so scared of losing Doyoung. Not just a small part, hidden away in the dark recesses of Johnny’s head that occasionally whispers his deepest darkest fear in his ears when he’s alone in his own bed for once. _One day, you and Doyoung will no longer be friends. You will just be casual acquaintances, former university mates, former best friends._

 _Almost lovers_. 

Oh, somehow that last one hurt the most. 

No, there’s a _huge_ part of Johnny that is so terrified of losing Doyoung as a friend. He doesn’t want to wake up one day and realise that he’s not someone that Doyoung updates every single day. They saw this coming, from the moment that Doyoung got the call back from Milliman, which also, coincidentally happened to be the _same_ day ( _what are the fucking odds, really_ ) that Johnny had opened his work email with trembling fingers and found a congratulatory email with a PDF file containing a contract designating a full-time position with The Art Institute of Chicago. 

_Congratulations, you are now a Junior Curator with us, if you choose to accept the position!_

Doyoung had wrapped him so tightly in a hug the moment Johnny showed his phone screen to him, his own hand still trembling around his own phone, and both their shirts were wet with tears. They had stood there in Doyoung’s bare living room, table empty of exam papers and study materials, arms tight around each other, clinging to each other while the tears just would _not_ stop falling. They were employed, just two days from the last day of their final semester, and Doyoung had clung to Johnny like he _never_ wanted to let Johnny go. 

They had ordered pizza and chicken, cracked open some beers and soju remaining in Doyoung’s fridge, and talked about the future with bright eyes and hopeful smiles. Johnny’s arm was around Doyoung, fingers drawing circles idly into the curve of his waist, while Doyoung’s hand was on Johnny’s thigh, fingers pressing into the muscles there as he downed shots of grape soju and followed them with sips of green tea. They had talked and talked and talked - Johnny rambling about how Doyoung would become one of the most sought-after accountants in no time, Doyoung going on about how Johnny will eventually curate an entire show by himself without being supervised by a senior curator. The future just seemed endless, filled with so many opportunities to grow and learn and build a career that would eventually let them carve their names into the large oak tree that recorded the history of the world. 

By the time the sun came up, filtering through the cheap curtains of Doyoung’s windows, they were sober and only drinking water. Doyoung had then looked up through his eyelashes, hand wrapped around the inside curve of Johnny’s thigh, tongue peeking through his teeth and asked Johnny that dreaded question that had landed them here in this lakehouse, cuddled together on top of crimson sheets in a room that was entirely Doyoung without bits of Johnny in it. 

_Hey, let’s go for one last vacation, shall we? One week, this time since we have no more school._

_Where?_

_My family has a lakehouse in Georgia. It’s quiet, well-equipped. We can drive ourselves up, get groceries on the way, cook our own food. See the woods, go swimming, whatever._

_Mhmm, sounds good. Next week?_

_Yeah. Oh, John?_

_Mhm._

_I need a favour from you, for this trip._

_Mhm, what is it?_

_(Doyoung had pressed his face into Johnny’s shoulder, inhaled quietly as Johnny ran his fingers through inky black hair and applied pressure onto Doyoung’s scalp.)_

_I’ll let you know later. Not today._

_Okay._

They had promised each other so many things in between imagining how their futures would unfold - how many high-profile clients would request for Doyoung, how many art journals would eventually feature Johnny and his curatorial work. _We’ll text everyday. Of course. You’ll be the first person I call when I get assigned my first show. Of course. I’ll call you, when I’m done for the day, skype? Of course, I’ll stay up if you’re doing overtime. I’ll book a ticket to Chicago the moment your show opening date is confirmed. Of course, I’ll make sure to reserve a slot for you. I’ll visit New York for your birthday, we’ll fly to Chicago for mine. Of course, I want to visit your family and your dog again, I miss your mom’s food._

_We’ll do this, adulting, together. Of course._

Johnny had looked up at Doyoung, hand tight around Doyoung’s waist, and asked him in a whisper so quiet that he wasn’t sure if Doyoung had heard him at that time. 

_Best friends, together, still?_

Doyoung had leaned up to kiss his cheek, just a gentle brush of lips against the corner of his mouth before tucking his head under Johnny’s chin. 

_Of course. Forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i, too, want someone to stay up with through the night talking about the endless possibilities of our future and career developments. hrnghhhh. peak romance.


	7. why my love isn't good enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha so i had a fever dream that i wrote 30k words of this fic in one-shot and finished it. alas, it was all a dream. but this chapter _is_ longer than usual :D 
> 
> happy belated birthday lily! really wanted to post this update on your birthday, but work really did a number on me. better late than never? :D happy birthday again you precious bub <3
> 
> photos described in this chapter are from #johntography. [this photo](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DfaJk7vVQAEdurJ?format=jpg&name=large) and [this photo](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Ee_2l4OUwAAaIWf?format=jpg&name=medium) specifically.
> 
> take care everyone. hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Doyoung likes to think that he knows what love is. 

At least, before his mother turned into someone he didn’t know. Someone greedy for fame, for money, for attention from paparazzi cameras and adoring fans that screamed his brother’s name and asked him to marry them from thick crowds. Doyoung’s mother had a brilliant career before she got married to his father. She had willingly given up a star-studded calling in acting to raise her kids away from the spotlight with her husband, who had inherited an electronics company worth millions of dollars. 

They are the perfect couple. Rich, powerful, influential. And she seemed to be comfortable with living an inconspicuous life away from the limelight and its accompanying attention.

Then Donghyun passed an audition, and his mother realised that it wasn’t a comfortable, nondescript life that she wanted after all. She wanted fame, the spotlight, and Donghyun, who later took on the stage name Gong Myung, was her ticket straight back into the eyes of the public and adoring fans. 

When a scout from an entertainment company passed her his card, telling her that he should audition to be a singer, his mother had all but begged him to audition and become someone famous. _Like your brother_ , she had cooed, eyes wide and bright and slightly dazed, _you could be the famous celebrity brothers, idol and actor. Think of all the publicity and the brand deals you will attract just by posting a picture on Instagram!_

Doyoung didn’t want to audition, didn’t want to be a singer, didn’t want to think about being subjected to the cruel idol training system in Korea. He just wanted to go to school, have friends that didn’t keep bothering him about his brother’s new roles in dramas, and not be known as “Gong Myung’s younger brother”. He just wanted to be Kim Dongyoung, straight-A student, who got into the best schools because of his own work and not because his father was a rich CEO and his mother was a former A-list celebrity. 

His mother had hit him once across the face when he refused to go to the audition. She hadn’t addressed him directly since then. She just stares at the air above his shoulder whenever he turns up at award ceremonies; he doesn’t talk to her beyond greetings. 

Everyone knows him as Gong Myung’s younger brother, as the second son of Kim Electronics. No one knows him as Kim Dongyoung. 

His mother doesn’t love Kim Dongyoung. His mother loves the spotlight, not her son.

So Doyoung had applied to universities away from home, despite Stanford sending him early recruitment letters. It is after all, only fifteen minutes away from his family home. He got into Yale, packed his bags, and drove himself to Connecticut. He introduces himself as Kim Doyoung instead of his birth name, dresses in thrifted clothes instead of luxury brands, and throws his heart and soul into studying and studying only. 

The questions never stop. _Aren’t you Kim Donghyun’s brother? Isn’t your mother Kim Taeyeon? Hey, have you ever gone for an audition of sorts? Do you think you can get me an autograph? I’m a big fan! Why didn’t you audition to be an idol? You have the looks. I’d be your fan!_

Doyoung doesn’t believe in friendship. Everyone wants him for something, usually related to his brother, or his mother. They don’t care about knowing Kim Doyoung as a person. 

\---

_“Fuck, I’m so sorry.”_

_Doyoung stares at his notes in front of him, stained a dark chocolate from the spilt coffee. He sighs, shakes his head and reaches for them gingerly. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t looking at where I was going.”_

_A sigh. “It’s my fault though, I ruined your notes.”_

_He dumps said ruined notes into the dumpster, wipes his hands on some wet tissues before throwing it away too. “Like I said, it’s fine. What about your coffee? I have some time, let me get you a new one?”_

_The man who had run into him is tall, broad, with soft brown hair curling softly over his forehead. He blinks at Doyoung with wide eyes, gaze roving over Doyoung’s face before his thick eyebrows scrunch together in thought and his mouth opens. Doyoung braces himself with an internal sigh. Here it comes, he thinks, the recognition and the unwanted attention, everything that he has worked to avoid, but still comes back to him in the end._

_“Wait, are you Ten’s roommate?”_

_He blinks. Wait, what?_

_Tall Man points to the keys hanging loosely from his fingers. “Room 5-11, Block 30. That’s Ten’s room. Are you his roommate? He talks about you a lot, but I’ve never seen you before. You live in the library, apparently.”_

_“You know Ten?” Ten’s the closest thing Doyoung has to a best friend of sorts, after meeting him in the bathroom of some award ceremony that Donghyun had won some kind of award in the second year of his career. He had ended up at Yale too, by some coincidence, and he was the one who had reached out to Doyoung for rooming arrangements. Doyoung wasn’t going to risk rooming with a stranger, so he had said yes, and ended up sharing a freshman dorm room with Ten Lee of all people. Kind of surreal, if you ask him, honestly._

_“Yeah,” Tall Man bops his head, pulls his backpack more securely onto his shoulder. He smiles at Doyoung, sticks his hand out towards him, and Doyoung feels weirdly accepted as a human being for once. He’s not sure how to deal with this, honestly. This is the first time in a while where someone hasn’t recognised him as the younger brother of award-winning Korean actor Gong Myung, face of Innisfree and Hera._

_“Nice to meet you, I’m John Suh. But you can call me Johnny. Everyone calls me that.”_

_Doyoung raises his eyes back to look at John Suh in the eye before taking the offered hand carefully. John’s palm is warm against his, and Doyoung feels something stir in his chest as the corners of John’s mouth turn up in a warm, sincere smile._

_“Nice to meet you, John. I’m Kim Doyoung.”_

\---

Doyoung thinks that sometimes, Johnny is unaware of how charismatic and attractive he is. Johnny speaks well, responds smoothly to conversation starters, rebuffs attempts at flirting without being rude, and is incredibly attractive dressed in fitted band shirts and form-fitting ripped jeans. He has had a variety of hair colours across the years, but Doyoung thinks he looks the best with his natural black hair, cropped short above his eyebrows, making the angular planes of his face look even more chiseled and masculine underneath the dim lights of clubs. 

He’s not jealous, he thinks, as he watches both men and women flirt with Johnny across the room. Doyoung barely comes to parties, but he’s here because Ten had told him that there was no harm letting loose for once. Their group of small friends are scattered across the room, Mark curled up next to Yuta on a couch, Jaehyun shamelessly flirting with Taeyong at the bar. Meanwhile, Johnny is laughing at a joke someone is saying, his dark eyes bright in the yellow lights as Ten leans into him, fingers wrapped tightly around the area above Johnny’s elbow. 

Ten and Johnny are a perfect couple, he thinks. Popular, charismatic, openly in love. 

Johnny had grown up with love, being the only son of a couple who had tried so hard so many times to have children only to fail multiple times before his mother got pregnant with him. He is a mama’s boy, one that is not overtly spoilt or bratty. Instead, Johnny treats everyone with a kind of rare tenderness and sensitivity, willingly lending an ear or a shoulder to cry on should anyone need it. Doyoung isn’t surprised that Ten had fallen for Johnny; his longest friend (of sorts, anyways, they don’t really refer to each other as _friends_ ) always had a weakness for tender, soft men who reached out to him first and offered him a kind of warmth that they had been starved of growing up under the cruel harsh spotlights of the entertainment industry. 

“Hey, good-looking. Come here often?” 

Doyoung swallows down the cheap beer in his cup and tears his eyes away from Johnny. The man leaning against the wall is handsome enough, broad shoulders filling out the leather jacket and muscled thighs straining against the seams of his too-tight jeans. He smiles and tamps down the ugly bitterness stuck in the back of his mouth. 

“Not really, good-looking.”

\---

_“You broke up with John.”_

_Ten doesn’t look up from his ipad. “Yeah, and how do you know that?”_

_Doyoung tosses his bag of study materials onto Ten’s floor, ignoring the loud thump that sounds. He collapses into Ten’s expensive office chair, stretches his head back and watches Ten out of his half-closed eyes. His Thai friend is still fixated on the screen of his ipad, zooming into one particular part of the screen with his lower lip caught between his teeth._

_“He’s in my apartment now,” Doyoung doesn’t know why he started with that. “He got drunk and called me. I picked him up from the bar two blocks down from Starbucks.”_

_Ten hums, and colours in one part of the drawing. “I see.”_

_Doyoung feels irritation spike in his gut, and he curls his fingers into his palm. “Why did you do that? He is good to you, Ten. He’s the best person in your fucking life.”_

_Ten finally looks up at him, and Doyoung is struck by the redness and swelling of his eyes._

_“Oh, Tennie,” he’s on the bed, arm wrapped around Ten’s shoulder immediately as his friend curls into his lap, tears dampening the fabric of his shirt._

_“I can’t help it, Doie,” Ten mumbles into his shirt, arms wrapped tight around his waist. “I feel so bad, but I really think we are better off being friends. I thought I liked him, more than just friendship feelings, but. But. But.”_

_Doyoung slides his fingers through Ten’s hair, bleached and dyed a bright mint green, but still soft under his touch. “It’s okay, Tennie.”_

_“I feel like a shitty person, Doie,” Ten sniffles, fingers twisted into the back of Doyoung’s shirt. “But I really didn’t want to lead him on. I still want him as a friend, which is why I said what I said. I can’t bear to lose him as a friend, Doie. Like you said, Johnny is the best person in my fucking life. I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want to lead him on more than necessary.”_

_Doyoung thinks about Johnny, soft rumpled hair with pillow creases pressed into his cheek. Johnny, who buys him coffee in the mornings, who makes sure that he gets home safely after all-nighters at the library. Johnny, who somehow always found his way into Doyoung and Ten’s shared freshman dorm after parties, who ended up too close to Doyoung on his tiny cramped single bed. Doyoung had spent too many nights watching him sleep, to the point where a voice in his head had told him that he was creepy for it._

_He curls his fingers into Ten’s hair, hoping that his longest friend doesn’t notice how his fingers shake. “You’re not a shitty person, Tennie. At least you were honest.”_

_Ten presses his forehead to his stomach and Doyoung pushes all thoughts of Johnny aside._

\---

“We don’t eat angel hair pasta in this house.” 

Johnny nods blankly at the counter. “Can’t complain, since you’re the one cooking and not me.” 

Doyoung slides a plate across the counter while Johnny drops cutlery onto the table. Coke for Johnny, iced lemon tea for him. He doesn’t taste the rose sauce in his mouth, barely acknowledging the exaggerated moans falling out of Johnny’s mouth as he thinks about the two tickets burning through the fabric of the back pocket of his jeans. It’s now or never, he thinks. It’s not a date, just two friends hanging out, just using the extra tickets that he had somehow accidentally bought on purpose. They didn’t cost a lot, barely even making a dent in the weekly allowance that Doyoung budgets for himself. Even with the motel he has in mind, together with a quick survey of affordable cafes and diners in the area, the entire trip is cheap enough that Doyoung doesn’t mind taking a weekend off for once. 

He doesn’t mind spending money if it’s with Johnny, he thinks. Fuck cheesy expensive dates that involved high-end restaurants and amusement parks and all that crap. Doyoung thinks that he’s the least romantic person that he knows, and yet, somehow, Johnny is the most romantic person he knows. Johnny had taken Ten out on dates to movies, to picnics by the river bank, and yet, doing all of that with Johnny makes something dislodge uncomfortably inside of Doyoung’s stomach. _It’s just being obvious, and a bad friend_ , the voice in his head tells him. But the reality is that Doyoung _would_ willingly open his purse and take Johnny to a Michelin-star restaurant if he asked, willing to weather through with the advanced reservation and tough bargaining that came with such a ridiculous request. 

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he asks a simple question. 

“Are you free this weekend?” 

Johnny blinks back at him. “Yeah. No plans for now, why?” 

He forces himself to chew on a cherry tomato and swallow it before answering. “Do you like going to underground art shows? Nothing fancy of course, but there will probably be some alcohol and some food. There are good cafes around the area too, if you want some good waffles and ice cream.” 

Johnny swallows his mouthful of pasta before answering. “That sounds cool, actually.” 

Doyoung keeps his eyes on the table, his heart almost still in his chest, paralysed by nerves that he didn’t even know existed. _Is this how having a fucking crush feels like?_

“Do you want to go with me to one? This weekend. Just nearby, in Derby.” 

He wonders why he can’t look at Johnny as he says it. Doyoung later realises, in retrospect, when he’s dragging a blanket over Johnny asleep on his couch, is because he was afraid of Johnny rejecting him. He’s not sure what he would have done if Johnny had said no, he realises. Maybe he would have just put the tickets into the shredder in the Student Affairs Office and pretended that this entire situation had never taken place. Maybe he would have stopped inviting Johnny over for dinner, stopped allowing Johnny to sleep on his couch, and maybe thrown away that spare toothbrush, glaringly red against the plain cream colour scheme of his tiny bathroom that was made to hold only one person’s belongings. 

Instead, Johnny ducks his head down to look at him, a bit of rose sauce smeared on the corner of his lips as he smiles at Doyoung softly. He’s still healing, Doyoung thinks, healing from heartbreak, from faith in a relationship, from trying to go back to being friends with an ex-lover. But Johnny is soft and kind, and maybe, he had pitied Doyoung a bit back then. 

“I’d love to, Doie. It would be an honour.” 

Doyoung reaches up to wipe the sauce away from Johnny’s mouth with his thumb without thinking about it. 

\---

_“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Johnny-boy lately.”_

_Doyoung doesn’t look up from his computer as Jaehyun collapses into the chair opposite him loudly, stationery and books clattering too loudly in the silence of the library. The librarian on-duty sends them a glare, and Doyoung raises a hand apologetically as Jaehyun puts together his study-set-up noisily._

_“You didn’t answer me, Doyoung.” Jaehyun uncaps a pen and flips through his question bank before settling on a tabbed page. Doyoung glances at the page number before pulling out his own, answers already marked in pencil, and gets ready to show the working on some scrap paper to the younger student seated in front of him._

_“We just hang out on the weekends, that’s all,” he taps a question circled in red with the top of his pen. “So, why don’t you know how to answer this? We literally did a similar question just two days ago in a tutorial slot, Jaehyun.”_

_“Are you dating him?”_

_Doyoung’s pen screeches across the smooth surface of the paper. He stares at the stray line of black streaked across the page, messing up the faint lines evenly spaced out to form grids._

_“I’m not. We’re not dating, Jaehyun. We’re just friends who hang out because somehow my friends are dating his friends. Which I must remind you, started because you asked Yong out and somehow, my best friend agreed. So, it’s your fault, really.”_

_Jaehyun stares at him, not even trying to pay attention to the questions in front of them anymore. “His Instagram posts say otherwise. I don’t think friends take pictures of other friends like that. You know which pictures I am talking about.”_

_Doyoung knows exactly which pictures Jaehyun is referring to. The pictures of him, black and white from Johnny’s film camera. One of him in a suit smiling with his mouth wide open, whiskey glass in one hand, seated on the balcony of their motel room. There hadn’t been any occasion for them to dress up at all, but Johnny had suggested that they put on suits and just go and eat at the dinner buffet like that. Doyoung, slightly tipsy, mostly enamoured by how dashing Johnny looked in a fitted suit, had agreed easily and they had made their way through seven plates of food each before finally calling it quits._

_There’s another one of him against the light, clad in a sleeveless shirt with one hand pressed lightly against the side of his head as he looked down deep in thought. Doyoung hadn’t recognised himself when he first saw the post on his Instagram feed. In fact, it was the background that had made him realise that it was a photo of him, a particular motel that had allowed smoking, so they had gotten high on a shared joint and proceeded to argue over whether Avril Lavigne had been replaced by a clone (Johnny says yes, Doyoung thinks it’s stupid and unfounded)._

_Johnny hadn’t shown him that particular photo. Instead, he had just uploaded it to his Instagram page, edited into a polaroid template with a simple caption typed in the centre._

Those kind of days

_Doyoung had lingered over that photo for quite a while, his phone clutched tight in his fingers as he debated whether to like the photo or not. He’s known for being a lurker on people’s profiles, despite being quite an active poster himself. He barely responds to other posts, barely likes anything, instead choosing to scroll idly during commutes and bus rides. In a fit of impulsiveness, he had bookmarked the post, exited Instagram before he could undo it._

_He crumples up the ruined paper before him before starting to write down the formula on a fresh piece. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. John is a very good photographer. He makes everyone look good through his lens. You should know, you’re a frequent muse.”_

_Jaehyun just looks at him for a bit, lips pursed up in a disapproving expression. His mouth smooths out in a thin line before he looks back to the question circled in red._

_“Figure out your feelings, Doyoung. Don’t be a coward and hide behind one-night-stands just because you are good-looking enough to score them.”_

_Doyoung ignores Jaehyun’s words and reaches for his flask of green tea to swallow down the blatantly disregarded emotions that had planted its roots in his heart and grown into thin sprouts that crawled up his throat and threatened to suffocate him whenever Johnny slipped an arm around him on their Netflix Nights._

_“I don’t know what you are talking about. Now, did you at least try the question?”_

_He doesn’t miss Jaehyun’s eyeroll before the younger boy finally puts his pen to paper._

\---

Everything in the shop is shiny, beautiful, and reminds Doyoung far too much of award ceremonies and the crazed look in his mother’s eyes whenever she watches Donghyun on the television screen. The case before him has a variety of couple rings on display, _engagement rings_ , he realises, or even _marriage rings_. Rings to be worn as a pair on two separate people who had promised their lives to each other, to love each other. _In sickness and in health. Till death do us apart._

_I’d like to settle down one day with the love of my life,_ Johnny had told him quietly over the sound of waves crashing gently onto the beach. Doyoung was desperately chasing after the warmth radiating from him, nose tucked into the collar of his jacket as Johnny looped an arm around his shoulders and drew idle random patterns into his bicep over the thick fabric of his coat. _It sounds nice, doesn’t it? Getting married, finding new ways to love each other, waking up to each other every single day and smiling whenever you find something that reminds you of the other person._

They do that, Doyoung had realised. Johnny sends him pictures of otters and porcupines he finds on the internet, together with bunny memes because apparently Doyoung looks like one and no one in their friend group will _ever_ let it go. On his end, Doyoung sends Johnny pictures of sunflowers, of vintage cameras he finds in hidden shops tucked into street corners, his lips automatically pulling up in a smile as he snaps pictures of stray kittens and sends them off in his private chat with Johnny without even thinking about it. 

He wonders if Johnny smiles whenever he sees pictures of bunnies on the internet. He wonders if he is the first thing Johnny thinks of whenever a bunny or a rabbit is involved. 

(He wonders, does Johnny think about him as frequently as he does about Johnny.) 

“Hi sir, are you looking for engagement rings?” 

Doyoung forces himself to smile briefly, tugging his mask and feigning a cough to play off being sick. He shakes his head, tears his eyes away from the display of rings before him before looking at the smiling salesgirl behind the counter. 

“I was wondering, do you have birthstone bracelets? For men.” 

Her smile is genial and bright, and her voice is a chirp. “Of course! Right this way, sir.” 

The moment he lays his eyes on the simple chain with a flat strip of metal with a single amethyst embedded into the middle, he knows it's the one. Johnny enjoys a little flair with his accessories, like to show them off a little, but this unassuming bracelet screams his name to Doyoung. He turns the sample around in his hands, thinks about the untouched black card in his wallet as he eyes the price tag cautiously out of the corner of his eye. He thinks about Johnny, warm against his side, messy hair and hooded eyes bent over his coffee machine in the morning, arm wrapped loosely around Doyoung’s waist and face tucked into Doyoung’s neck as Doyoung pulled cheap scratchy motel sheets up over their entwined bodies. He thinks about the warmth of Johnny’s palm against his as they watched the sun dip over the edge of the skyline while blue-black bled across the expanse of what had previously been orange-yellow. 

Doyoung hands the bracelet back to the salesgirl and smiles at her. “I’ll take two of this, please.” 

He pays with his own debit card, deliberately ignoring the black one hidden by his student ID. 

(He thinks about buying two slim silver rings, _twenty-six-twenty-nine_ engraved in roman numerals on the inside. He thinks about asking Johnny to marry him.) 

(He thinks it’s ridiculous. He can’t even imagine saying _I love you_ to Johnny.) 

( _He thinks Johnny will never ever say those words to him. Ever._ ) 

\---

_“You’re in love with Johnny.”_

_Yuta doesn’t bother to censor his words, as expected. Beside him, Taeyong looks stricken with panic, looking back and forth between him and their Japanese friend as Yuta looks over the menu, seemingly unaffected by the consequences of his words. Doyoung stares at his beer, appetite already gone despite the delicious smell of yakitori wafting through the air._

_“Yeah, I am.”_

_Taeyong’s jaw is slack, mouth so wide open that a fly could have flown into it undeterred. Yuta calmly takes a draught from his own beer glass, eyes still fixed on the menu. He turns a page, taps a finger onto the plastic of the laminated page._

_“Are you going to tell him?”_

_Doyoung can’t bring himself to look at Yuta. “I don’t know.”_

_Taeyong finally closes his mouth as the waitress comes over and Yuta orders for them in fluent Japanese. He hands her the menus, thanking her before switching back to Korean as he refills his glass. “Is he moving back to Chicago?”_

_Doyoung jerks his head in some form of a shake. “Not sure. Everything is uncertain at this point. We’re both waiting to hear back from places we applied to. He does want the job with the Art Institute of Chicago the most though. I hope he gets it.”_

_Yuta hums into his beer. Taeyong finally decides to speak._

_“Long distance is a thing, Doie.”_

_Doyoung shakes his head. “I can’t. I don’t even know if he likes me.”_

_“He does,” Yuta waits for their food to be arranged before them before continuing, thanking the waitress in Japanese with a small smile. They break their chopsticks apart and divide up the portion of rice they had ordered. The yakitori sauce is sweet on Doyoung’s tongue. “He likes you so much, it’s ridiculous that you haven’t noticed.”_

_Doyoung thinks about Ten and Johnny before they became lovers, how easily Johnny had wrapped his arm around Ten and allowed Ten to lean against him and steal his jackets. He thinks about Johnny touching people’s arms as he converses with them, handsome with his bleached blonde hair and dark roots, shoulders broad in his leather jacket, and shakes his head._

_“He’s just generally a nice person. He’s friendly to everyone. I don’t think he likes me that way.”_

_Yuta shoots him a look before putting a meatball on his bowl._

_“Doie, you are very attractive, you know.”_

_“Yeah, physically, of course I know that.” Comes with being the younger brother of a popular Korean actor and the second son of a former beauty queen-turned actress, he supposes. “But I’m not exactly, I don’t know. Boyfriend material, or husband material. Too much baggage, too much pride, too much ambition to be tied down by one person.”_

_“Doyoung,” Taeyong’s voice is soft over the sizzling of the grills and the shouts of orders in the background. “What Yuta means is that you are attractive to others like a boyfriend. Especially to Johnny. He will not shut up about how you’re so cute when you are grumpy and stressed out from studying, or how you are so adorable when you accidentally fall asleep on him.”_

_Something in Doyoung’s chest unsticks at those words, flutters a bit in hope. He wraps a careful hand around it, tells it silently to keep still as he bites into the meatball. Tender, hot, cooked to perfection and drenched in the right amount of sauce. He’s not like that, he knows; he’s either two hundred percent into something or completely disinterested. A lot of things, a lot of people, want balance. Especially in a relationship. Doyoung can’t exactly offer that._

_He can’t bring himself to look at Taeyong and Yuta._

_“John can’t do long-distance. Last time he did, his girlfriend cheated on him.”_

_Yuta’s eyebrows disappear into his hair. Taeyong doesn’t seem that surprised._

_“You’re different, Doie. He looks at you differently. You can make it work. Both of you.”_

_Doyoung stares at the remaining half of the meatball in his bowl. He thinks about making Johnny give up his trust again, thinks about asking Johnny to open his heart again after suffering through so many rounds of heartbreak at the hands of exes and friends. He thinks about the way Johnny’s eyes linger on Ten and Kun’s entwined hands, a certain kind of emotion seeped deep into his dark chocolate eyes that made the bags under his eyes more prominent._

_Doyoung just wants to kiss it away. But he has no right. So he just lets Johnny’s fingers find his under the pile of pillows on their lap as they sit next to each other on Ten’s couch while Yuta and Taeyong get into a screaming match over Super Smash Bros, while Johnny watches Ten pull Kun in for a kiss opposite them._

_“I don’t think so.”_

_He doesn’t know if he’s trying to convince himself or his friends._

\---

Johnny is asleep next to him, hickeys on his neck and chest still fading, lips still slightly swollen from their makeout session under the shower. Doyoung didn’t remember who had initiated the kiss, but they had just kissed again, soft and slow, Johnny’s hands cradling his face. Johnny’s thumbs had brushed over his cheekbones so gently, like Doyoung was going to break if he applied more pressure. After the shower, he had fallen into a kind of sleep that muted his surroundings, but he was somehow still very aware of Johnny pressed against him. 

He thinks about the numerals tattooed on Johnny’s lower back. _Zero nine zero two one nine nine five._ Johnny’s birthday. Johnny is sentimental like that, it’s one of the many things Doyoung loves about him, one of the many things that Doyoung thinks he lacks himself. He’s so used to just quickly moving on and leaving things in the past, determined to rid himself completely of his family connections and establish a different kind of reputation for himself. 

Technically, moving to New York would mean moving away from Johnny. 

The next step: leaving Johnny in the past. Forgetting Johnny. Forgetting his feelings. Forgetting all the memories of weekends spent together in shitty motel rooms, cuddled up on Doyoung’s couch. Breakfasts in the morning, beer and chicken at night, Johnny’s red coffee mug on the table beside his blue one, one red toothbrush beside one pale blue one in the bathroom. 

Having only one toothbrush in the bathroom seems so foreign to Doyoung now. 

So he hadn’t gotten there yet, to the next step. Instead, he had made plans and plans for the future with Johnny, high on good news and alcohol, promising to fly to Chicago to visit Johnny’s parents for his birthday. Telling Johnny to book him a ticket and save him a place at the museum openings whenever he had a part in curating the show. Whining at Johnny to come to New York with him to see the Vessel. Saying that they should walk around Central Park and find unknown restaurants tucked into the small streets because they both hate crowds so much. _Popular things are overrated anyways,_ Johnny would say, and Doyoung would just laugh in agreement. 

Doyoung exhales shakily into Johnny’s neck, hoping that it will pass off as a sleepy sigh. Johnny only pulls him closer, kisses a tender kiss to his temple. His heart jumps painfully in his chest. 

The past few days have been one very long, very blissful dream. Waking up beside Johnny, wearing his clothes, seeing his neck and chest all marked up from Johnny’s teeth, feeling the phantom aches of being fucked into the mattress, in the shower, in a horrifyingly diverse variety of positions by Johnny. They already had crossed so many boundaries prior to this, probably too many for Doyoung’s liking, but he just can’t help it. Johnny is warm, a warm constant, and the way he looks at Doyoung just makes Doyoung want to get down on his knees and ask for a transfer to the Chicago branch of Milliman immediately, pride be damned. 

He knows that by asking Johnny for that favour, it would be crossing the last boundary between them as friends. Honestly, Doyoung’s kind of surprised that he hadn’t jumped Johnny before this. Johnny is handsome, tall, broad, muscled and toned in the right ways, and Doyoung isn’t afraid of admitting that he falls right into his type. Maybe it was out of loyalty to Ten - it isn’t right in any universe to fuck your best friend’s ex, no matter how unwilling he was to admit that Ten Lee is kind of his best friend. Maybe it’s just one of the many excuses he had tried to come up with in the process of getting himself to acknowledge that he doesn’t want to just be a one-night-stand, a one-time-fuck thing with Johnny. 

But Doyoung is moving to New York next week. Half of his apartment is already in boxes waiting in his new living room in New York. Call it a last minute, impulsive wish of sorts, maybe. Call it a selfish desire, but maybe, Doyoung could have one good thing to himself for one last time before he has to live apart from the one person that he has actually fallen in love with. 

Maybe Yuta is right. Maybe Johnny is in love with him too. 

But Johnny doesn’t do long-distance relationships. Johnny has a loving family, good friends, and the opportunity to build a wonderful, flourishing career for himself in Chicago, a place filled with beautiful memories close to the people that he loves. Doyoung doesn’t fit in there, doesn’t fit into any part of Johnny’s life that doesn’t involve university. Even if he has visited Johnny’s childhood home more than once, shared drinks with his parents and sat on the porch with Johnny to watch the sun rise in at dawn, Doyoung still thinks he’s completely out of place in Johnny’s picture-perfect life, a cool drab slip of blue against Johnny’s landscape filled with warm bright oranges, reds and yellows filled with love and affection. 

Doyoung buries his face into the pillows and listens to Johnny’s breaths even out above him. 

So what if they love each other? It doesn’t mean that a relationship will automatically work out. 

It’s one of the biggest lies romcoms and movies tell you, Doyoung thinks. Love doesn’t conquer all, doesn’t make miracles happen. Sometimes, love just hurts. 

Johnny is warm against him, but all Doyoung feels is the dull ache of his heart collapsing in on itself. 

A house of cards built out of love (unrequited, possibly, but probably also reciprocated), stacked carefully with small touches and early mornings and late nights in motels on the weekends. A house of cards falling down because of one small gust of wind, with just one whisper of change. 

Love is precarious, fickle-minded. There is no guarantee that Johnny will continue loving him back in Chicago. 

\---

_“Best friends, together, still?”_

_Doyoung pulls away from Johnny’s side to look at him properly. Johnny is handsome despite his eyelids drooping shut from exhaustion, the pale yellow of the rising run washing across his face. He looks like home here in Doyoung’s tiny living room, half-packed in open boxes scattered across the floor, table empty of past-year papers and stationery for the first time in three years. He looks like he belongs here, with his messy hair and worn-out sweaters, fingers pressed into the curve of Doyoung’s waist._

_Doyoung can’t imagine a universe where he doesn’t fall in love with Johnny._

_It’s funny, his sleep-deprived mind thinks. They probably wouldn’t even have met if Johnny hadn’t met Ten at 127 Crew Auditions, having accompanied Jaehyun there. If Johnny had not met Ten, he wouldn’t have recognised Doyoung’s room number on his keychain that day. He probably would have just put some money into Johnny’s hand, moved on to his next class, and forgot about it like an insignificant slip-up. Yet, Johnny had turned up in his room again, half-asleep because of alcohol, and Doyoung had just let him sleep in his bed, watching as the elder student nuzzled into the stomach of his penguin plushie._

_Johnny had just appeared again and again. As Ten’s boyfriend, later ex. As Taeyong’s new boyfriend’s best friend. As the older cousin of Yuta’s internet-friend-turned-boyfriend. Somehow along the way, he had turned into a constant in Doyoung’s life, a friend who held his hand in unnamed cafes in small streets, a friend who shared a bed on weekend trips, a friend that somehow spent more time in Doyoung’s apartment than in his rented room in Ten’s mansion._

_A friend that Doyoung had fallen in love with._

_He really wants to kiss Johnny now, he really does. But they are both sober, tired from staying up all night, excited for the future that had opened up before them with their new job offers. He can’t kiss Johnny and play it off as a drunk joke, can’t rely on the alcohol to blur out Johnny’s memories and pass it off as a fever dream. Doyoung’s apartment is half-empty, Johnny has sent most of his things back to Chicago already, and they are both sitting in the bare remnants of a room that somehow felt like it was made for the two of them only._

_So he doesn’t kiss Johnny on the mouth. He plants a small kiss right on the corner of Johnny’s lips, wraps his arms around Johnny’s torso tightly and shuts his eyes against the soft skin of Johnny’s throat._

_“Of course. Forever.”_

_He feels the words rolling off his tongue and thinks that he’s a liar._

_Except he’s not. Doyoung would willingly promise Johnny forever in a heartbeat, even if Johnny didn’t want the same kind of forever with him._

_I love you, Doyoung says in his head, the unsaid words heavy and acrid in his mouth as Johnny pulls him closer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /coughly gently/ i'm...sorry?


	8. i've got something i've kept inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /inhales deeply and gets down on my knees/
> 
> there is a reason i didn't reply to comments for the last chapter :') i really couldn't risk any spoilers. but i am honestly glad that doyoung's pov was enjoyed and we finally know what the fuck is going on inside his head! :D that aside, i am so grateful for all your comments, all the essays in my emails, all your thoughts! i still can't believe that people are invested in this wtf oh my god i dont deserve _any_ of you :( 
> 
> happy belated birthday adri bb <3 i hope this chapter cheers you up, in some way. if not i have hugs available for you always. you only need to ask <3 
> 
> side note: the chapter numbers have been updated :D we are more than halfway there! 
> 
> suggested music for this chapter is [ lifehouse's hanging by a moment](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPnK39ax_AM). another suggestion: maybe before reading this chapter, you can watch [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZGUhMTNGss) first :D or maybe you can watch it after you read, whatever you like. 
> 
> as always, please take care. drink water, make sure to feed yourselves, wear a mask, take a break from social media if you need to. always put yourself first <3 i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Johnny wakes up to Doyoung looking down at him with a small smile. 

“Good morning,” he mumbles into the pillow, the residual emotions from last night still lodged painfully in his throat. Doyoung reaches down to gently cup his face, his fingers cool against Johnny’s skin, and Johnny can’t help but turn his face into his palm. He presses a soft kiss into the centre of Doyoung’s hand, closes his eyes against the smooth skin there. 

“Morning.” Doyoung is ravishing even with his face swollen from sleep, the collar of Johnny’s shirt hanging off his shoulder as he gently strokes a thumb over his cheek. Johnny just wants time to stop still right there, wants to live in this bubble away from the world. He wants to ignore the reality that is rushing up to him way too fast, the imminent departure that will come once they drive back to Doyoung’s small apartment in Connecticut. 

The farewell doesn’t begin only when he leaves Doyoung’s new apartment in New York. No, it begins once they leave this lakehouse too big for the both of them. They can’t kiss in Connecticut, not in Doyoung’s old apartment with the remnants of old memories littered around the space. They definitely can’t kiss in New York, not in the new apartment that is too new, devoid of anything that belongs to Johnny.

It would be as if Johnny never existed in Doyoung’s life at all. 

What happens at the lakehouse stays at the lakehouse. No more kissing Doyoung freely, no more back-hugging Doyoung at the stove, no more trying to tamp down his imminent orgasm as Doyoung clenches tight around him and moans into his neck. 

Johnny thinks about all the lines that had been crossed before they started having sex. All the handholding, all the moments curled up next to each other in bed, all the nights spent cuddled on the couch with his hand pressed against the coolness of Doyoung’s smooth skin. All the soft intimate moments, all the sides of Doyoung that had flickered before his eyes, all the memories shared between them before they tipped right off the edge and fell into bed together. 

He doesn’t want to just hold Doyoung’s hand anymore. He wants to kiss Doyoung, press him against the kitchen counter, and hear Doyoung giggle into his mouth. He wants to hold Doyoung like a lover, watch his eyes slide shut as Johnny works shampoo into his scalp, and hold Doyoung by the curve of his waist as Doyoung dries his hair gently. 

He wants to tell Doyoung that he loves him, wants to say it into Doyoung’s mouth, wants to hold Doyoung close and promise him a forever with matching rings on their fingers. 

The three words are on the tip of Johnny’s tongue. He can almost say them. _Almost_. 

But he doesn’t. He knows the fantasy will be broken if he does. So he swallows them down into the pits of his stomach, pushes the voice in his head to a corner as he turns to look up at Doyoung beside him. 

“So, what are we doing today?”

Doyoung hums gently as he lets Johnny nuzzle into his hand again. “Dunno. What do you feel like doing?” 

Johnny grins up at him, the motion coming surprisingly easy despite the dull ache in his chest. 

“You.” 

Doyoung’s laugh is bright and loud, filled with disbelief as he looks back down at Johnny fondly. He has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, everyone knows that; there is a barrier that exists between him and the world, and Doyoung views everything with a guardedness of an animal that has been wounded before. However, the Doyoung that Johnny has come to know on the weekends in cheap motels, the Doyoung in the early mornings making coffee the exact way Johnny likes it, the Doyoung that cries into Johnny’s shoulder during some late stressful nights; these different versions of Doyoung are open with Johnny - smiling, laughing, crying freely in a way that made Johnny’s heart explode like fireworks as giddiness spirals through his veins and warms him from the inside. 

None of that, however, compares to the Doyoung that Johnny has had access to the entire week. This Doyoung is so unashamedly inhibited, so confident in his sexual appeal, so straightforward in his flirting and his demands for affection, that Johnny felt like he had unlocked some special side of Doyoung through this secret mission that involved the lakehouse. 

Doyoung is smiling widely down at him when he stops laughing. He lifts his hand to gently rake it through Johnny’s hair, his fingers coming to cradle the nape of Johnny’s neck gently. He searches Johnny’s face gently, his eyes soft and warm, before Johnny’s vision is obscured and a soft familiar pressure meets his lips. 

“That can be arranged,” Doyoung murmurs as he pulls away. Johnny reaches out of habit, his hand finding Doyoung’s neck automatically as he chases the kiss. Doyoung grins, indulges him in one more quick kiss before he’s sliding off the bed and tugging the collar of Johnny’s oversized shirt up his shoulder. 

The hickies are still there. Fading, but still there. Doyoung’s fingers stroke gently across the particular one across his pulse, the one that he jokingly refers to Johnny’s favourite spot. Something thuds in a dull ache, somewhere in Johnny’s chest, as their eyes meet momentarily in the room lit awash with the early morning light. 

Against the pale yellow of the sun, with his dark hair messy and uncombed, falling around his face still swollen from sleep, Doyoung looks like he wants to tell Johnny something. 

He doesn’t. He just looks away from Johnny before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. 

The slide of fabric down Doyoung’s creamy smooth skin is deliberately slow, but Johnny’s mind automatically puts it on half the actual speed as his mouth dries at the familiar curve of Doyoung’s ass coming into sight. His cock jerks under the dark sheets, and from the upturned quirk of Doyoung’s mouth, that sight had definitely not unnoticed by the younger. 

Doyoung kicks the boxers away, the movement unnecessarily dramatic, before he steps out of the bedroom. Johnny’s oversized shirt is even bigger on him, the hem barely covering the swell of where his butt meets his thigh. He doesn’t look back even as he speaks. 

“Don’t even _think_ about jerking off in the shower, John.” 

Johnny swallows. 

\-- 

The press of Doyoung’s bare thigh against his clothed own is annoyingly distracting. 

They hadn’t done much despite the apparent promise in the bedroom. Instead, Doyoung had slid out of Johnny’s hands every single time Johnny had tried to reach for him, ducking under his arm, brushing past him without looking at him as he prepared stir-fried udon on the stove. He had ordered Johnny to set the table and make them both some coffee, all the while seemingly hyperfocused on chopping up carrots and stirring the minced meat in the pan. 

Johnny doesn’t question it, not when the soft skin of Doyoung’s thighs is barely covered by the hem of his ratty old shirt, an old jersey from his time on the basketball team in high school. His surname is printed in large capital letters on the top above his number, _twenty-nine_. His birthday. He has never stopped using it as his representative number despite not playing on a sports team anymore. Doyoung had giggled at his attachment to it briefly before his face had smoothed out to one of contemplation as he played with the chain of the friendship bracelet on Johnny’s wrist idly. 

_“I like it,” Doyoung had declared, his fingers cool against Johnny’s skin, and Johnny had wanted to snatch his hand up and kiss the cold away from his beautiful long fingers. Doyoung’s own bracelet had glinted in the dim light of the motel as he tapped his fingers to the muted sound of Lifehouse’s Hanging by a Moment playing in the background._

_“Yeah?” Johnny had managed, entranced by how beautiful Doyoung looked under the yellowish lights, only slightly distracted by low baritone singing lyrics that barely reached his ears._

_(i’m standing here until you make me move / i’m hanging by a moment here with you)_

_“It’s a prime number,” Doyoung had hummed before he reached down to slide his fingers into the spaces between Johnny’s own. “I like prime numbers. They suit you.”_

_Johnny hadn’t known what to say to that. So they had sat there, fingers tangled loosely together, the metal of their bracelets cool against skin._

_A comfortable silence just for the two of them. No need for words._

Johnny thinks about a universe where he had met Doyoung in high school instead. Maybe he would have met Doyoung in calculus or AP history, boldly given his jersey to Doyoung and asked him to come to one of the inter-high basketball games. Maybe he would have run straight to Doyoung after scoring the winning three-pointer at the last minute, ignoring all the cries and cheers of his teammates and his coach, making a beeline to Doyoung standing in the bleachers instead. Maybe he would have hugged Doyoung tightly, confessed that he liked him in the evening twilight as they stared over the empty court. Maybe Doyoung would have blushed so prettily, pink from his ears to his throat, looking absolutely gorgeous wearing Johnny’s jersey with Johnny’s name and Johnny’s number on the back. Maybe he would have kissed Doyoung right there, on the empty bleachers, in the darkness of the court, the moon the only witness to this fairytale moment stolen right out of movies and fanfiction. 

Maybe, in an alternate universe, Doyoung would have been Johnny’s first love. 

In this universe, Johnny doesn’t know anything about Doyoung beyond the four years of friendship they share and the occasional bits that slips out of Ten’s mouth. He knows that a quick google search would unearth more of Doyoung’s past easily, but for some reason he has never done that. Doyoung tells him bits and pieces of things, like how he still talks to his brother, how his brother occasionally sends him gifts, how he doesn’t talk to his mother anymore. He always did it with a certain type of guardedness, watching Johnny’s face carefully as he spoke, his fingers curled into a fist on the table in between them. 

But Johnny never asks for more. He’s fine knowing Doyoung like this. Doyoung is attractive regardless - beautiful in his single-minded concentration to work as hard as he can, and the way that he attacks everything with absolute intensity and focus just makes him even more captivating in Johnny’s eyes. 

_I’m not giving up on things just because settling for something else is easier,_ he had told Johnny once before, his eyes burning with a kind of frigid coldness that would have scared anyone else, but it only made Johnny more besotted. _Fuck people telling me what I can or cannot achieve by myself. If I want it, I will work for it myself. I will grab it with my own hands even if they are bruised and bloodied. I want to do things for myself, by myself._

Johnny could never bring himself to ask Doyoung to move to Chicago to be with him, even if that was the only thing that he wanted in the entire world. The last thing he wanted to do was hold Doyoung back from the things Doyoung wants. He thinks Doyoung is the most beautiful in the way that he works, with his blazing determination that would have possibly killed a lesser man. He’s fine knowing Doyoung like this, knowing this version of Doyoung. So he never pushes Doyoung to talk about his past more, just listens carefully and shares his own tales of growing up in Chicago and getting lost in the Target near his house when he was a kid. 

He tells Doyoung about his exes, about how his ex-girlfriend cheated on him after he moved to Connecticut for university. He tells Doyoung eventually about his relationship with Ten, how he had fallen harder beyond what he had expected to feel, about how sometimes there is a crack in his heart that keeps chipping whenever Ten touches his shoulder or smiles at him. Doyoung just lets him put his head in his lap, fingers in Johnny’s hair, and listens quietly without commenting on the tears that soaked into the fabric of his sweatpants. 

_You are a good lover, John,_ Doyoung had told him quietly, both of their eyes fixed on the muted screen of the laptop before them playing some crime documentary that Johnny had no idea about. _You love with all your heart, maybe that's why it’s more painful for you to recover. That doesn’t mean that you are a shit lover, or that you’re too intense. You already love everyone around you, even if they don’t necessarily deserve it. You are a good friend, a good son, a good lover. You know what love is, John. That’s why you feel the hurt more than others._

Doyoung had leaned down to kiss his head gently, stayed buried in his hair for a bit. 

_You will find someone who will love you the way you love them, for sure. I know it, John. You deserve that._

“Udon for your thoughts?” 

Johnny laughs as Doyoung slides the pan in between them, watching as the younger dumped the cooking cutlery in the sink and washed his hands under the faucet. “Nothing, just thinking about what you said to me before, I guess.” 

Doyoung’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “I said a lot of things to you. Gotta be more specific about that.” 

Johnny lets him ladle some food onto his plate. “That conversation about love.”

There it is, that look in Doyoung’s eyes again. “Ah,” the younger offers in response before piling some noodles onto his own plate. Johnny fills their glasses up with grapefruit tea and reaches for the cutlery beside his own food. 

“Doyoung.”

The way Doyoung looks up at him pins him to his chair, the younger’s eyes wide and round, a forkful of noodles in his mouth as he blinks at Johnny. He doesn’t know what had compelled him to blurt out the other’s name in the first place, his food untouched as his brain whirrs at a thousand miles per hour. _Oh god, is he really going to confess to Doyoung like this?_

_Stop that,_ the voice in his head hisses, yanks on the leash holding Johnny’s confession, hard. It had been on the tip of his tongue, humming and vibrating with anticipation in sync with his own heart thrumming unevenly as he looked at Doyoung across from him. _Stop that, it’s not the time or place for this. Don’t be stupid._

Johnny digs his fork into the udon. “Did you mean it when you said that I am a good lover?” 

Doyoung swallows his food and spins more noodles around his fork before answering. “Yes. Why the sudden question?” 

Johnny shrugs, suddenly unable to look Doyoung in the eye. The udon on his plate is colourful, his brain supplies, carrots, onions, minced meat, meatballs, mixed together with that special spicy-sweet sauce that Doyoung had managed to achieve with chilli and oyster sauce. He stabs a meatball onto his fork, puts it in his mouth and chews out of reflex. 

“Nothing. Just wondering, that’s all.” 

“John.” 

Doyoung’s ankle hooks around his own, a sign that he wants Johnny to look up at him, but Johnny just can’t. He’s not sure if he can look at Doyoung, not when _he’s_ the one that Johnny has been in love with for about two years now. Maybe, somewhere in the twisted recesses of his mind, where logic is all fucked up because Johnny likes to dream about impossible scenarios that will never happen, he had convinced himself that agreeing to Doyoung’s favour of asking to be friends with benefits for a week in a lakehouse too big for the two of them would somehow make his feelings go away. _Fuck it out, enjoy the fantasy_ , his mind had whispered to him, _then you will get over him. Sometimes all it takes is fucking. Maybe your feelings only grew because you wanted something so badly to the point that it became an infatuation. Once you have it, you will realise that maybe, you don’t want it so badly after all._

That’s clearly not the case. It has been five days. 

Johnny is still in love with Doyoung. 

“Hey,” Doyoung’s voice is soft, and his fingers are cool against Johnny’s wrist. His touch is gentle, like he’s afraid of hurting Johnny, like if he presses any harder Johnny will shatter under his fingers. Somehow, the delicate touch sears itself into Johnny’s skin. Johnny can feel his heart cracking slowly under it. 

“You are a good person, John. Like what I told you the other day. You are hardworking, you are smart, you are compassionate. You are a wonderful friend, a filial son, and you have been nothing but good to the people that you have dated. You are sensitive, respectful, and you know how to love everyone in the ways that they need to be loved. You understand how to love people differently, John, because you are aware that they are _different_.” 

_But I don’t know how else to love you,_ Johnny thinks, as he lets Doyoung take his hand and rub reassuring circles into his palm. _I wish I could be content with loving you from afar, I wish I could just love you as a friend and be alright with that. I need to tell you, Doyoung. But I’m so afraid that I will hurt you if I tell you that I love you. You have a difficult relationship with love, Doyoung. I don’t want to impose my love onto you, just because I love you. I love you so much, I need to tell you. But I love you. I don't want to hurt you._

He just nods, clutches Doyoung’s hand to his. “Thank you.” The words come out a little choked. 

Doyoung squeezes his hand back without saying anything. 

\-- 

So they are here now, seated next to each other on the couch, and Doyoung is still only clad in Johnny’s old basketball jersey as they are halfway through the fifth season of _Modern Family_. 

There is only one more day in this house before they have to drive back to Connecticut. Doyoung will drop Johnny off at Ten’s place, and Johnny will take a shower because he goes over to Doyoung’s place to finish putting the rest of his stuff in boxes. One week later, Johnny will go home to Chicago, spend time with his family for a week before heading back to pick Doyoung up and drive him to New York. He would be there for about a week with Doyoung, helping him unpack probably, and going around to look for niche bakeries and restaurants. They would pick one day to go to the Vessel, to see if they could find each other again despite taking separate routes from the very beginning. 

The romantic in Johnny wants to believe that somehow, they will always find a way back to each other. Even if the different paths took them further apart than expected, even if the journey ended up being longer than initially planned. They will reunite at the top of the Vessel, hair windswept and messy, but Doyoung will still be laughing as he barrels into the younger and breathes in the familiar scents of cedar and clean linen. 

“You’re not paying attention, John.” 

Doyoung is playing with the waistband of his sweatpants idly, occasionally running a finger over the skin right beside the top of where the fabric ends. Johnny is so used to this, so used to Doyoung touching him, he wonders if the skinship will stop when they move away from each other, when they will only be able to see each other on electronic screens. 

“Sorry,” he leans down to press a kiss into Doyoung’s hair. “Was thinking about how you’re wearing my old high-school basketball jersey.” 

Doyoung hums, hikes a thigh over Johnny’s legs and pretends to think as Johnny’s fingers are drawing random patterns into the smooth skin there. “Mmhm, really?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny’s mouth is dry even as Doyoung tilts his head to let him continue kissing down his face. He nips at Doyoung’s lobe once, admiring how it slowly turns pink, fully aware of how Doyoung’s cock is twitching under the faded red of his jersey. “You look hot in it.” 

“Mmhm,” Doyoung responds, his fingers dipping slightly below the waistband of Johnny’s sweats ever so slightly. His breath hitches a bit as Johnny’s fingers slide over the jersey hem, just lightly grazing over the base of his spine and something euphoric rises in Johnny’s throat as Doyoung’s hips jerk backwards slightly. 

“Yeah,” Johnny slides a finger carefully over Doyoung’s hole, his heart jumping in his chest as Doyoung arches up into him with a moan muffled into his neck. “Want to fuck you in it.” 

Doyoung pulls away, eyes glittering with desire as the neck of jersey slides off his shoulder once again, exposing the smooth curve of his shoulder that Johnny is so obsessed with. 

“I am not going to say no to that.” 

\--

Doyoung actually _giggles_ when Johnny crowds him against the pile of pillows on the bed, his chest shaking with laughs even as Johnny kisses him. 

“What’s so funny?” Johnny grumbles against the smooth skin of his neck. He finds that familiar spot, his favourite one right on top of Doyoung’s pulse, and sinks his teeth right into it. He’s satisfied when Doyoung’s laughter tapers off into a moan with his bite, pressing his tongue gently to the bruise to soothe it as Doyoung grabs at his neck. 

“Nothing,” Doyoung murmurs against his hair, his fingers tender against the nape of Johnny’s neck. He presses his cheek against Johnny’s hair, and Johnny can feel the line of his mouth curved in a small smile. “I think it’s kind of endearing, I guess. It’s like you’re fulfilling your high school fantasy of losing your virginity in your childhood bedroom, with the person you had your first crush on dressed into your basketball jersey with your name on the back. It’s kind of silly, I guess, but I’m kind of honoured to be the one helping you with living this flight of fancy.” 

Something stutters in Johnny’s chest, and his fingers tremble against Doyoung’s waist before he can stop himself. He licks a stripe up Doyoung’s neck before pressing a wet kiss to the spot right under the younger’s ear. “Mhmm, I never specifically had that fantasy.”

He’s lying, of course. He has had this fantasy before, but only with Doyoung involved. Right now, he’s living it, fulfilling this stupid daydream that he has entertained in his head some nights with his hand wrapped around his cock. One where he had met Doyoung in high school, fallen in love with him in the midst of quadratic equations and dramatic readings of _Hamlet_. They would have lost their virginities to each other in Johnny’s childhood bedroom, after that one game, Doyoung still wearing Johnny’s jersey, all awkward long limbs and fumbling through puberty. They would have been high-school sweethearts turned long-term lovers, Johnny thinks, a similar story that had unfolded between two of Doyoung’s mentees. They would have gone to college together, met their friends, but still had eyes only for each other, and perhaps gotten married immediately after they graduated despite the financial constraints. Fuck all that realistic shit, probably. All in the name of love. 

In another universe, Doyoung might have been Johnny’s first and last. 

In a separate timeline, maybe it would have been harder. Maybe they would have broken up because they had to go to different universities. Maybe Johnny has cried himself to sleep because of it. Maybe, they would meet again, running to each other in the same city, finding out that they work for the same company. Maybe, Johnny would hit on Doyoung at a company party after finding out that he was single, and maybe they would start all over again. Second first-kisses, second first-dates, second first-times in bed. Maybe, they would fall in love all over again, as better versions of their high-school-selves, and realise that they had never fallen out of love with each other despite the distance and the time spent apart. 

Call Johnny a romantic, call him too infatuated with Doyoung, but he has never been in love like this before. He likes to believe that no matter what happens, no matter which universe; if a John Suh and a Kim Doyoung existed in the same reality, they would somehow find their way to each other. And Johnny would definitely fall in love with Doyoung. Again and again. 

It’s much more delicate this time, he realises idly, even as he opens Doyoung up tenderly and softly, and Doyoung rocks his hips back carefully onto his fingers. While he’s reaching for a condom, Doyoung’s hand finds his cheek, guides Johnny back to him, and coaxes Johnny’s mouth open for a kiss as his other hand finds Johnny’s shoulder. He strokes a thumb over the lavender inked into the skin there as Johnny braces himself above him, hands splayed out on the sheets beside him as Doyoung kisses him slow and deep. 

“No condom.” 

Johnny stills. The voice in his head screeches until it’s white noise bouncing around in his brain. 

“Are you sure?” He mumbles into the wet smoothness of Doyoung’s mouth. Doyoung slides a hand down his chest, and Johnny just shudders as Doyoung’s fingers wrap around his length to stroke him lazily for a bit. 

“Yeah,” Doyoung kisses the corner of his mouth, tender and soft, his hand warm against Johnny’s shoulder. “You’re clean, right? I know we both get checked regularly, even though we haven’t been sleeping with anyone for the past year.” 

Johnny swallows. “Yeah, I just got my results last week, actually. I’m clean.” 

Doyoung lets go of his cock as he looks up at Johnny, his eyes hooded, crowded with a myriad of emotions that Johnny truly cannot decipher, even without the hormones and lust fueling his brain. He taps Johnny’s hip gently, one thumb stroking above a hipbone before he leans forward to kiss Johnny on the mouth. Tender, gentle, almost a little sad. 

“I am too. Come on, then.” 

Doyoung is deliciously tight around him, hot and wet, fitting perfectly around Johnny’s cock as he watches it disappear inch by inch. The moan that escapes Doyoung’s throat echoes faintly in his ears, making him even harder (if that was even possible), and Johnny can’t tear his eyes away from where they are connected. His hips caged between Doyoung’s thighs, the base of his cock flush against Doyoung’s entrance as Doyoung’s own length is swollen stiff, leaking from the tip and standing tall against his stomach. 

_“John.”_

Doyoung’s hands are sliding over his arms, reaching for his face and his hair, and Johnny lets himself fall into the gravity of Doyoung’s orbit willingly. Doyoung pulls him close, presses their chests together, kisses Johnny chastely as their noses brush against each other and Johnny settles his hands on the curve of Doyoung’s waist. 

“Fuck,” Doyoung gasps against his lips as he carefully pulls them even closer together. “Fuck, I am so _full_ , Johnny. _Fuck._ ” 

Johnny kisses him again, lets Doyoung hook his ankles together behind his back. “Take your time, Doie. Let me know if you need more lube.” 

Doyoung lets out a soft keen, shakes his head, and tangles his arms around Johnny’s neck. His mouth falls open with the sound, and Johnny takes the opportunity to take his lower lip in between his teeth carefully. Doyoung’s breaths are warm against his face, his arms and legs wrapped closely around Johnny, and he is so _tight_ around Johnny that it makes his head spin. 

They don’t move for a while. They stay like this, limbs all tangled up together, Johnny’s cock still inside of Doyoung, and they kiss and kiss as Doyoung moans softly into Johnny’s mouth. It is as if time had stood still, in this little bubble of a moment, where they are wrapped around each other, Johnny’s old jersey hiked up to Doyoung’s chest. It doesn’t matter to Johnny if he doesn’t orgasm, honestly. He could die happy like this, pressed against Doyoung, kissing him like time wasn’t slipping past them like water through a sieve. Like they weren’t silently counting down to the day where they had to say goodbye to each other and start their adult working lives in two different states apart from each other. 

Then Doyoung moves his hips, just ever so slightly, and tightens deliberately around Johnny. 

Johnny can’t help the moan that falls from his mouth as he drops his head to rest his forehead on Doyoung’s shoulder. There are fireworks in his chest, under his skin, exploding in his veins, Doyoung warm and present underneath him, tight and velvet around him. His head is giddy, spinning, filled with bliss and _love_. 

“Fuck,” he breathes into Doyoung’s shoulder. Doyoung just kisses his temple gently, fingers carding through his hair and pressing gently into his scalp. 

“John.” 

“Fuck, Doyoung. I love you.” 

He doesn’t realise that he has said the words. They had just tumbled out of his mouth, in the bliss of the moment, both of them clinging onto a suspended high fueled by lust, affection, and whatever feelings that have built up between them over the four years of toeing the line of being friends and perhaps something more. It’s nothing like the confession that Johnny had imagined in his head - his chest painful, the words heavy on his tongue as he prepared himself for the rejection that would inevitably fall from Doyoung’s lips. 

It’s just light, relieving even, like a weight is off his chest. The words are easy to say, filled with a kind of soft elation that is surprisingly similar to the first time he realised that he was in love with Doyoung. It is easy, he had realised back then, falling for Doyoung, being in love with him, thinking and talking and dreaming of a future together even if their lives were growing apart with the future looming in the background. It is so easy, undeniably simple, even if he had been constantly locking his feelings away in that stupid box and shoving it into a corner of his head, invested in the process of trying to ignore them while he tries to hold onto everything he has in the present with Doyoung. 

Doyoung just holds him tighter, pulls him closer. Johnny feels a hot wetness against his cheek as Doyoung whispers ten impossible words into his ear, his fingers tight in Johnny’s hair as they fit together perfectly on top of a bed too big for just one of them alone. 

_“I love you too, John. I love you so much.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /stage whisper/ oh my god they said it :D


	9. all your paper cuts, they cut you in the coldest spots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no words other than :3 enjoy :3

_I love you too, John._

_I love you so much._

Of all the things that Doyoung could have said in response, those ten words were definitely the least expected. They are still ringing in Johnny’s ears, bouncing around the white bliss in his brain, searing themselves into his veins, his chest, his heart. 

Doyoung loves him back. 

Johnny feels the hotness against his cheek, feels Doyoung entangled with him, Doyoung warm and tight around him. Everything around him is Doyoung, Doyoung, _Doyoung_. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, hand going up to cup Doyoung’s face gently, to wipe away the tears. He kisses the edge of Doyoung’s mouth softly, afraid to be too intense, afraid of breaking this moment encased in glass like an impossible reality captured in a snow globe. 

“I love you, Doyoung. I love you. Fuck.” 

Doyoung just lets out a broken sound somewhere between a sob and garbled words. His fingers are tight in Johnny’s hair, his tears hot and salty against Johnny’s lips, and he’s still there. He’s still with Johnny. He hasn’t pushed him away, run off somewhere to ignore Johnny, and left Johnny alone in a house too foreign and a bed too big for him. Doyoung’s still with him, clinging to Johnny like he’s a lifeline in a turbulent storm, like Johnny is the only thing anchoring him to reality lest he gets swept away to disappear under the waves. 

_(I love you. I love you. I love you, John.)_

“I love you. I love you, Doyoung.”

Johnny can’t stop himself from saying it. It is the dam that he had built up, the wall of precaution that kept his feelings for Doyoung at bay in his head - a careful barrier separating the compartments of friends and something more. He had never told Doyoung that he loved him, not even platonically, even though he says it so openly to their friends. To Ten, to Taeyong, to Jaehyun, even to Kun and Jungwoo. Instead, to prevent the dam from breaking, he had filled the spaces between them with other things instead. Weekend trips, Netflix nights on Doyoung’s couch, late night drives in Johnny’s Honda, quiet nights cuddled up next to each other in cheap motel sheets, talking all night about a future together despite having jobs in two different states, promising each other to always be best friends as the sun crawls up the sky and time moves forward while they look at each other with all the unsaid words in between filling up the silence. 

_I’m so stupid_ , Johnny realises, the fog of his unresolved feelings suddenly gone, his head clear without the constant struggle of holding his emotions back. _Doyoung has always loved me. I’m so blind to think that he would never actually love me back. I cared too much about my feelings, tried to keep them away too consciously, to the point where I forgot to consider his feelings too._

Doyoung turns his head to catch his lips in a kiss. It is slow and tender, and Johnny wonders if it's his imagination that there is a lingering bitterness on his tongue even as Doyoung’s hands cradle his face tenderly while his hips move up to meet Johnny’s. 

Their moans spill into each other’s mouths, into the emptiness of Doyoung’s childhood bedroom, and Johnny just wants time to stand still. 

“Make love to me, John.” 

Like most requests that come out of Doyoung’s mouth, Johnny can never say no. 

\--

“So where do we go from here, John?” 

Doyoung’s voice is too loud in the dim yellow lights of the bedroom. He has pulled away from where they had been cuddling at the headboard of the bed, wrapped in a hazy post-sex glow that had them still glued to each other at the mouth, hands wandering all over any skin that could be reached. Doyoung had kept one leg wrapped around Johnny’s waist, his own cock soft and stained in between their bodies, as they kissed and kissed without any intention to let go of each other to clean up, to move on from this moment shared between the two of them. 

Doyoung is seated at the other end of the bed, his eyes wide and bright, his fingers trembling against each other as he stares at Johnny. He’s beautiful even like this, Johnny’s brain hazily supplies, curled up into himself, vulnerable with his nakedness and the fear in his eyes. Almost on autopilot, Johnny reaches out towards him, wanting to hold him close and kiss away the lines of distress around his eyes and mouth. 

Something in Doyoung’s face stops him cold, and his fingers curl into a loose fist instead. He rests it carefully on top of Doyoung’s knee, presses a thumb into the bone there in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. 

“We can date,” Johnny hates that the words sound so uncertain. _Isn’t this what he wants?_ “We can go on dates, we can work things out with the distance. New York is only one hour ahead of Chicago. It’s not going to be a big deal. We did talk about this, remember?” 

Doyoung folds his lips together, looks away from him. “Yeah, but not about dating.” 

“Long distance is a thing, Doie,” he wants Doyoung to look at him so badly. “We can try it. We can work out Skype dates, maybe see each other twice or once a month. We can text every single day, try to call every single night. I don’t know, honestly, I’m not sure. But we can at least _try_ something. At least.” 

Doyoung swallows hard, and the words that come out of his mouth are like glass splinters with dull edges lodging themselves in Johnny’s chest. 

“What if it doesn’t work out? Do we go back to being friends?” 

Johnny doesn’t have an answer to that. 

Doyoung reaches out towards his hand, like a reflex, Johnny realises. From all the times they had automatically reached for each other under the harsh pressure of school, from the imminent insecurity that came with graduating into the workforce, from all the times where there was no need for words and they just somehow found a way back into the comfort of each other’s touches, fitting into each other seamlessly with their fingers filling up the spaces between the other’s so easily. Like Johnny, however, he stops just shy of wrapping his hand over Johnny’s, his fingers curling loosely into his palm as he stares despondently at Johnny’s fist on his knee. 

“You deserve someone who can love with all their heart, John.” 

Johnny shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I love _you_ , Doyoung.” 

“No, no,” Doyoung is pulling away, shrinking into himself, and Johnny wants nothing more to take him into his arms and kiss him so that he will stop talking. “No. I’m not enough for you, John. I don’t fit into your life. I can’t move to Chicago to be with you. I can’t ask you to move to New York for me. I’m not _enough_ for you, John.” 

“We don’t have to move now, Doyoung,” Johnny genuinely does not understand why Doyoung is saying this. Doyoung is making up excuse after excuse, pulling away from Johnny despite the tears in his eyes and the tremble in his fingers as he looks away. “We can just try.” 

Doyoung shakes his head again, and the tears are running down his cheeks as his teeth dig into his lower lip. Johnny feels something in his heart chip at the sight. 

“Doyoung,” the words are a whisper, and he really shouldn’t be asking. It’s not the time, but he needs to know, needs to confirm for himself before his heart breaks into a million pieces inside of his chest. “Doyoung, do you not reciprocate my feelings? Did you just say the words in the heat of the moment? Be honest with me, Doyoung. Don’t lie about your feelings.”

The younger turns back to look at him, his eyes red and his face pale. Doyoung looks like a stranger, too distant from Johnny, too far away, but also too familiar. Johnny is familiar with this Doyoung, tired out from pressure, from work, tired of his father blowing up his phone and telling him to come home, tired of listening to the screaming messages his mother leaves in his voicemail. 

This Doyoung is tired of life, tired of being alone. 

“I do. I love you so much, John. That’s why I want you to find someone enough for you, because I am just not enough. I cannot be that person for you John. I am too much, too distant sometimes, too needy during others. You deserve someone who can love you tenderly, love you fully with their heart, and be there with you to celebrate all the achievements in your life. Someone who fits right there with you in Chicago, in your childhood home in the suburbs, grilling ribs with your dad and making Korean food with your mom. Someone that you can spend your life with in Chicago, someone without the ghosts of their past lingering around all the time. Someone that you can spend forever laughing with instead of having to pick up the pieces of them every single time they fall down. Someone enough for you, your big smile, and your beautiful, _beautiful_ kind heart.” 

Johnny stares numbly at Doyoung, his mind blank and his chest empty. Somewhere along all the words that have come out of his mouth, Doyoung has slid out from under his hand, curling into himself with half of his face hidden by his arms and knees, the shine of tears glittering in the dim lights of the room. He’s still within Johnny’s reach, perched right on the edge of the bed. 

Yet, in that moment, Doyoung has never seemed further away from Johnny. 

“Doyoung, you _are_ enough. I love you. You love me back.” 

The way that Doyoung angles his head in a weird nod stirs something in Johnny’s chest. Doyoung is here, in front of him, telling him that he too, is in love with Johnny. That their feelings for each other are reciprocated, that they wanted this together - a future waking up to each other, a future where they could hold hands and kiss each other silly in public, a future that could possibly end with matching bands and silent promises to be best friends forever. He should be happy, Doyoung should be happy; they should be kissing each other, giddy on love and the possibilities of a life ahead together, sharing dreams and hopes with the promise of celebrations and losses by each other’s side. 

What Johnny feels though, seems more like heartbreak than anything else. 

“Won’t you give _us_ a chance, Doyoung?” 

Doyoung smiles softly at him, and Johnny just wants to hold him and tell him that everything will be alright. Instead, the younger just slips off the bed and drags on a shirt, one that doesn’t belong to Johnny, before he heads to the door. He doesn’t look at Johnny, his hand on the door knob as he stands there for a bit and the silence rises to a deafening volume between the both of them. A thick wall of uncertainty, of restraint, of unsaid words of affection. 

He turns back, crosses the wall and cups Johnny’s face gently with his hands. 

Johnny thinks if he could, he would capture this particular image of Doyoung with his camera, with his brain, and permanently sear it into the back of his eyelids. He’s the most beautiful like this, Johnny believes, open and vulnerable without any guard in his eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks, all laid out and exposed for Johnny to see. He wants to keep this Doyoung to himself, to hide him from the world that had been too cruel to Doyoung the moment he had been born, to protect and cherish Doyoung and tell him that he deserves to be loved. Especially by Johnny. 

Doyoung inhales deeply, and his breath rattles a little. He dips down, and just barely brushes Johnny’s lips with his own before Johnny is reaching for him and he’s halfway out the door. 

“Doyoung, answer the question. Please.” 

Johnny tastes leftover salt on his lips as he hears the desperation in his voice. He can’t tell if they are from his tears, hot and wet down his cheeks, or from Doyoung’s, the dried tear tracks obvious under the yellow lights of the bedroom. Doyoung watches him for a bit, his face still soft and open, and in that moment Johnny sees it. It’s the same expression that he has whenever he looks at Kun and Ten kissing on the couch, the same one that takes over his face whenever Jaehyun talks about marrying Taeyong within three years of graduating, the same one that seeps into every inch of his face whenever he looks at Johnny over beer and chicken with their hands tangled together under the table, out of sight away from the watchful eyes of their friends. 

Doyoung _wants_ love. Doyoung _is_ in love with him. 

Doyoung wants it, but he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. But the want _is_ there in his eyes, and Johnny wants to say it again, wants to tell him that it is enough, that love is enough for the both of them, that he is enough for Johnny and that there is no one else that Johnny has ever loved so much and so easily. There is no one else that Johnny has ever dreamt of a future with, that he is the only one that Johnny wants to kiss and love and eventually propose to in a living room just big enough for the two of them. 

Doyoung looks away from him, and his voice is a whisper that rings too loudly in Johnny’s ears. 

“I can’t.” 

\-- 

Johnny wonders when Doyoung had fallen in love with him. 

While the words had come so easily out of his own mouth, they seemed to cause Doyoung more pain than anything. Doyoung had refused to meet his eyes, disappeared to the bathroom by himself before Johnny could reach out for him again. Johnny stares at the crumpled sheets under him, the phantom image of Doyoung lying back on the pillows flickering before his eyes as something burns dully under his skin and something twists tightly in the cavity of his chest where his heart is. The longing in Doyoung’s eyes contrasted with the tight grip of his fingers on the pillowcase under his head, the way he searches Johnny’s face even as Johnny leans down to kiss him slowly without much thought beforehand. 

It had become another habit, Johnny realises. Like the weekend vacations, like Johnny spending the nights in Doyoung’s apartment, like the spare toothbrush and matching mug, like all the handholding and skinship that had blurred the line between friends and something more. It had been so easy to fall into these new habits, especially the particular habit of kissing Doyoung whenever he wants to, whenever he feels like it. Doyoung always giggles into his mouth afterwards, smiles against his lips, and pulls Johnny back down to kiss him again and again, his fingers tangled in Johnny’s hair and his own heart in Johnny’s hands. 

Johnny already knows that he will miss Doyoung when they are apart, even before he had recognised that Doyoung is in love with him too. He knows he’s not good at dealing with long-distance, especially with his first serious relationship ending because of infidelity. He knows that Doyoung knows this, knows that Johnny’s heart isn’t whole in the first place, chipped and battered from years of heartbreak and falling too hard. He knows that Doyoung will miss him too, even if Doyoung doesn’t say it out loud. It is obvious with the way he looks at Johnny over the kitchen counter in the mornings, in the long stares as he watches Johnny disassemble his heavy furniture and put it in boxes for him. It is obvious in all the small things, Johnny realises bitterly, and a bit belatedly, sitting alone on a bed that they have shared for a week. 

A bed that they had kissed and fucked in. A bed too big just for one of them alone. 

_(A bed that they had said ‘I love you’ for the first time in.)_

Johnny wonders if Doyoung is trying to spare both of them the heartbreak. 

\-- 

“I’m going to the mall for a bit. Go shower.” 

Doyoung is digging through his suitcase on the floor for something, his dark hair wet against his forehead. He’s freshly showered, smelling faintly of mint and cedar, dressed in his own clothes for once. Johnny wants to reach out, pull him back to bed, tell him that he wants to talk and ask him a million questions about what he means about not being enough for Johnny. He wants to tell Doyoung that he is enough, say the words again and again to him, tell Doyoung that he loves him and that they will figure it out. That things won’t have to end the way Doyoung thinks that they will. 

“What do we need?” He pushes himself off the bed, reaching for his discarded boxers on the floor. “I’ll be out in five minutes or so, we can go together.”

Doyoung shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Irritation flares in Johnny’s chest at that. “So you are really going to pretend like we didn’t fuck and kiss for a week now? Like we weren’t friends who already shared too much with each other?” 

“Are you seriously going to go about pretending that you didn’t say ‘I love you’ back to me?” 

Doyoung stills over his suitcase, stray droplets of water sliding slowly down his neck from where he hasn’t toweled it dry enough. He dips his head forward from where he’s crouched on the floor, the water droplets soaking a thin line into the white of his shirt as it slips out of sight. 

“I need some time alone. Please. John.” 

His fingers are shaking on the zipper of his suitcase, the silver of the friendship bracelet gleaming with the slight motions. Doyoung stands up, his back still facing Johnny, and despite his broad shoulders and tall frame, he looks terribly small to Johnny. Shrunken into himself, trembling like a leaf in the wind, barely holding on to the remnants of his sanity with the tips of his fingers, nearly falling apart at the seams. 

Johnny suddenly feels guilty for pushing too hard. He forces himself to breathe, tells himself to calm down as he digs his fingernails into his palm to keep the urge to hold Doyoung at bay. 

“Will you be alright, Doie? Can you drive?” 

Doyoung _finally_ turns around to look at him properly, the shadows formed from the light settling across his face in a way that highlights the sharp curve of his jaw. He looks beautiful, even like this - distant and small and fragile, facing his demons of insecurity alone at the opening of a tunnel with a dead end. He smiles at Johnny, the motion so slight that it barely moves his face, but the words that settle in a whisper in between them makes warmth bloom in Johnny’s chest again. 

“I will be fine, Johnny. I’ll come back. Just wait for me, I’m not going to run away from this.” 

It is Doyoung who closes the distance between them, reaches out a shaky hand to cup Johnny’s face gently. He wipes away the tear tracks with his thumb, his thumb lingering over Johnny’s cheekbone. Johnny can’t help himself as he catches Doyoung’s wrist gently even as the younger pulls away. 

“Be safe. Call me if you need me for anything.”

Doyoung presses his lips together and nods, his eyes shiny even as he looks away. 

\--

Johnny thinks everything is too big without Doyoung to share it with. 

The shower, where they had kissed under the spray of warm water, where Doyoung had pressed him against the wall guided his cock into him. The kitchen, where he had crowded Doyoung against the counter despite the protests of the younger and nipped at his neck with the pot simmering lightly over the stove. The platform overlooking the lake, where Doyoung had looked back at him, pushed his hair back and told him that he just wanted to kiss Johnny. The living room, where they had cuddled against each other, Johnny fighting his heavy eyelids before Doyoung slid down in between his legs and took his zipper in between his teeth. 

He has seen videos of the apartment back in Chicago, having been on a virtual tour, having looked through all the videos and photos with Doyoung pressed against him. Doyoung had pointed out where his furniture should go, suggested that Johnny get some plants for the low seat near the big window, added sheets into Johnny’s cart on the IKEA website without even consulting him. 

“Get a queen-sized bed,” Doyoung had told him idly while Johnny was calculating the cost on the website to ensure that this multi-million corporation wasn’t scamming his money. “Who knows, you might meet someone special, or you might want to bring someone home. Either way, it doesn’t hurt leaving space for someone that you haven’t met yet.” 

Johnny has dreamt about having a drawer filled with Doyoung’s clothes in his bedroom, fantasised about waking up in Chicago with Doyoung next to him in bed. He doesn’t know exactly when he had started thinking about having a future with Doyoung. Maybe it had begun from the small things, like the spare toothbrush that Doyoung had never bothered to put away after the third night he stayed over. Somewhere along the way, it had grown into bigger things, like weekend trips turning into secret getaways, like the matching bracelets on their wrists, like talking about the future until the morning sun came up and making promises to spend their birthdays together, to be there for all the major achievements in each others’ lives. 

Johnny wonders when he had started leaving a space for Doyoung in his life. 

Doyoung had been the first one to leave a space for him in his apartment even when he didn’t need to. He could have just sent Johnny home to Ten’s place, he didn’t have to bring Johnny home and make breakfast for him in the morning. He could have thrown out that spare toothbrush in the bathroom, he could have taken that gray penguin plushie away from Johnny who had ended up hoarding it on the nights Johnny spent on the couch. He could have let Johnny sleep on the couch until his back hurt, until he had decided to go home to sleep in a proper bed. 

Doyoung hadn’t done any of that. Instead, he had pushed an exhausted Johnny against his pile of pillows, pressed the familiar plushie into his arms, and told Johnny to sleep. Johnny had woken up to the smell of clean linen, cedar and honey, Doyoung’s cheek pressed into the pillow, his nose just barely brushing the line of Johnny’s shoulder. 

Johnny watches the moon in the sky and says a silent prayer for it to bring Doyoung back to him, safe and sound. 

\-- 

“John, wake up. Your neck is gonna hurt if you sleep like this.” 

Johnny opens his eyes and blinks away the blurriness of sleep. Doyoung is hovering above him, hand warm on his shoulder, and Johnny’s limbs just move on autopilot when he sees ruffled black hair and eyes still swollen from crying earlier. 

“Doie,” Doyoung is falling into his arms, Johnny’s cheek is pressed against soft black hair, his lips finding the top of Doyoung’s cheekbone automatically as Doyoung clambers into his lap. The younger smells faintly of the cedar notes of his perfume, the underlying bitter smell of cigarettes mixed with it, and Johnny wants to _cry_ at how comforting it is. “Doie, you came back.” 

Doyoung laughs, short and clipped, but warm and tender. His arms are tight around Johnny too, forehead pressed into the sharp plane of Johnny’s shoulder, fitting perfectly in Johnny’s lap despite not being much smaller than him. He turns his head ever so slightly, and Johnny feels the familiar brush of his lips above his pulse as Doyoung speaks. 

“I’m back, John. I’m home.” 

\-- 

“I don’t want to force you into a long-distance relationship, John. Not when you had such a horrible end with the last one that you had.” 

They are sitting on the floor of the bedroom, backs pressed against the smoothness of the silk sheets of the bed. Since Doyoung’s return, they had managed to barely keep their hands off each other, despite doing the most menial tasks of laundry and cleaning up the kitchen. Doyoung had dragged the familiar blue sheets across the mattress with Johnny holding the other edge, grinning and laughing as Johnny complained about them being too smooth. They had washed the dishes, Johnny flicking water at Doyoung as the younger spluttered and shoved his shoulder against Johnny’s. 

The hum of the dryer is faint in the background. Doyoung is sitting with his hands in his lap, eyes trained on the pale cutout of moonlight on the floor. Johnny can’t take his eyes away from the angles of his knuckles and fingers, long and beautiful, the matching charm of their bracelets resting loosely against his pale skin. 

“Also,” Doyoung inhales deeply, squeezing his fingers together, and Johnny wants nothing more to reach out and entwine their fingers together. He wants to hold Doyoung’s hand, to tell him that it’s going to be alright. But now’s not the time for that. 

“I don’t think I’m ready to be in a relationship, John. I’m sorry.” 

Something breaks inside of Johnny’s chest. 

“Oh.” 

“I’m sorry, John. It’s not that I don’t want to date you,” the words are falling out of Doyoung’s mouth, the younger man clutching his hands so tightly together that his knuckles are white. “I love you, I love what we have, but I don’t think I can be in a relationship. Especially not with you. You, John, Johnny Suh, who treats me just like a normal human being, who holds me like I’m not made of glass, who just smiles at me and loves me in such a tender way that makes me believe that I actually have a chance of having it for myself. You, who falls in love with all your heart, who loves so bravely and so openly and so widely.” 

Doyoung’s teeth are digging into his lower lip, and the tears are sitting right on his waterline, threatening to spill over if Johnny pushes, or pulls too hard. So he just sits there, the desire to hold Doyoung against him burning into his palms, burning into the fabric of his pants as he lets Doyoung gather himself and continue speaking.

“I’m so scared, John. I’m so scared of hurting you.” 

“Doyoung,” fuck the restraint, fuck the boundaries, fuck holding back, Johnny is reaching for Doyoung’s hands, wrapping tightly around them and covering them with his own. He feels the tremors under his palms, tries not to let his own emotions tremble through his skin too. “Doyoung, you have _never_ hurt me. You have only been there for me. You have only been good to me, nothing else.” 

Doyoung’s eyes are fixed on the bracelet hanging from Johnny’s wrist, the muscle in his jaw working as he bites hard into his bottom lip. Johnny reaches out without thinking, swiping his thumb across Doyoung’s chin in a silent urge to tell him to stop doing that. Doyoung automatically leans into his touch, and Johnny just wants to kiss him right there. 

“I don’t know how to be in a relationship, John. Fuck, I’m so scared I’ll hurt you, especially since we are going to be apart. Thirteen hours of driving, two hours of flying, more than a thousand kilometers in between us. _Fuck,_ how am I even supposed to get used to living _without_ you for the first time in _four_ years?” 

Johnny has these thoughts all the time, about the distance in between them, about waking up in an apartment that only had things belonging to one person. He has thought so many times about not being able to touch Doyoung, not being able to just randomly turn up at his workplace and surprise him. It’s not feasible, not when they are both fresh graduates, and their future and careers are just beginning to bloom. Even if Doyoung is just a phone call away, even if he would Skype Doyoung the moment Doyoung asked, even if they could Facetime until they fall asleep with the one hour time difference. It is not feasible iin so many ways, because Johnny would _never_ ever ask Doyoung to risk anything for him. Not his health, not his time, and _definitely_ not his career. Not when Doyoung has worked tirelessly for four years so that he can get a job without his family connections affecting him, not when he has finally saved up enough to live by himself in a completely different city with a stable job and career ahead of him. 

There is more at stake here than just both their hearts for Doyoung. 

“I don’t know,” Johnny’s own voice is quieter than he expected, but he doesn’t let go of Doyoung’s hands. He leans into the younger, presses his cheek against the familiar softness of midnight hair, and exhales shakily when Doyoung tucks his head under his chin. An old habit of familiarity, once so foreign, especially when they were still transitioning from being strangers to friends. Somewhere along the four years spent together in college, three of them in Doyoung’s apartment, they had become friends, then best friends, then something more. 

If he’s being honest, Johnny wants this something more to turn into something else. 

_(Boyfriends. Lovers. Husbands.)_

“I don’t know how to live without you too, Doyoung. I’ve thought about it for so long, spent too much time thinking about it, honestly. I’m scared too, but I’m going to be honest with you, okay?” 

Doyoung pulls away from him, his eyes wide and shiny, and any other person would have seen him and thought that he was on the verge of breaking down. But Johnny is not just anyone; he knows Doyoung, seen many sides of him, far more than anyone else, possibly. He sees the steel in Doyoung’s eyes underneath the unshed tears, knows that Doyoung is the strongest person that he knows. 

That’s why he has to be honest with Doyoung.

“I’m scared too, so fucking scared, Doyoung. Chicago is home, familiar, and heck, I’m not even working at a new place. I was an intern there for _more_ than a year. I’m going back to a familiar place, starting with familiar faces, but all I can think about is that _you’re_ not going to be there with me. You, who stood beside me for four years, who held my hand through the countless interviews I had, who stayed up with me through the sleepless nights, who accompanied me to so many new experiences and brought me to so many new places.” 

“Maybe I fell in love with you because we spent so much time together, maybe it happened because I chose to run away from spending time with Ten after we broke up. Maybe I fell in love with you way too fast, maybe it was because you were kind to me and I just wanted affection and attention and I was unused to being single after being in relationship after relationship. But it doesn’t change anything, it doesn’t change my feelings.”

“You are a beautiful, strong, wonderful person, Doyoung. That's why I fell in love with you, that’s why I _am_ in love with you. So many people will fall for you, or have fallen for you already. I’m just one of them, honestly.”

Doyoung is trembling, and the tears are sliding down his cheeks awfully slow. But he doesn’t look away, his lip quivering, his shoulders tensed up in a line, almost like he’s physically bracing himself for Johnny’s words. He just watches Johnny, his own fingers unfurling under Johnny’s hands and linking their hands together, anchoring Johnny down to reality as he silently applies pressure with the pads of his fingers. A silent sign of encouragement, an anchor to reality. 

“I’m fucking scared too, Doyoung. I’m so scared of the future, of the unknown. _Fuck_ , I’m so scared of losing you even as a friend. You’re _that_ important to me, really. But I want to at least try with you, try for us, even if the ending is one that involves heartbreak and leaving a friendship that is probably the _best_ thing to happen to me in all my life.” 

Johnny is so tired. His feelings are all out in the open, his heart laid out and dissected on a platter right between the both of them, his fears of the future and all the uncertainties articulated from his own mouth. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he’s kind of amazed at himself, a dazed kind of haze where he has managed to actually tell Doyoung everything instead of just saying those three words over and over again. 

Doyoung squeezes his hands gently and leans up to kiss him chastely. Just a brush of lips, barely there, nothing more. 

“Thank you for falling in love with me, John. Thank you for being honest with me.” 

Johnny’s heart stutters. He grips their entwined hands tighter, tilts his head to kiss Doyoung’s tears away, his lips pressed into the cool smoothness of his cheek. 

“So where do we go from here, Doyoung?”

The words feel like an ultimatum hanging in the air. 

Doyoung sighs, and his breath is warm against Johnny’s ear, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“We can only try, right?” 

Something breaks free in Johnny’s heart and _soars_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /slides away quietly/


	10. it's a long way for heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gasps OVER 200 KUDOS??? oh wow oh wow?? i did not expect to get here wtf i am so ????? QwQ
> 
> thank you so _so_ much to all of you who have read this, who have left kudos, comments, who have bookmarked and subscribed to this. it means so fucking much to me, that people are actually reading _and_ enjoying _and_ looking forward to this work being updated? wow, it just feels so surreal wtf?? its just so crazy to me idk 
> 
> of course, to those of you who have been here since the first few chapters, you have a special space in my heart. words cannot describe the amount of gratitude that i feel for all of you who have given this fic, aka johnny pining, as i like to refer to it on my twt, a chance even just by reading or clicking onto it. i hope, i have not disappointed any of you :D 
> 
> we are nearing the end :D i'm so sorry it is taking so many words to get there, but it is in sight
> 
> suggested music to accompany this chapter is an ost from hospital playlist, [introduce me a good person by joy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V0eUzjrYLu4)
> 
> (p.s. i will be replying to comments after chapter 11 is posted! this is so that i don't spoil anything :3)
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter <3 as always, please take care of yourselves <3

The apartment is too big for Doyoung. 

He doesn’t remember it being so big on video call, with the agent holding up the tablet and showing him the tiny kitchen, the small living room, the cramped balcony. Perhaps, the only thing that is actually big, and the only big room that he had been looking for back then, is the bedroom that can fit a large wardrobe and a queen-sized bed. Doyoung prefers beds that are a bit bigger, with room to roll around in, enough space to have a hook-up to stay over, in case he wanted them to stay for some reason.

Except they never did. He never asked them to stay either. 

The only person who ever slept beside him in the queen-sized bed in his apartment in Connecticut is Johnny. Somewhere along the years as time passed, Doyoung had ended up automatically gravitating towards the warmth that Johnny exuded, his forehead tucked into Johnny’s shoulder with their limbs tangled up together, the older man’s warm breath lingering in slow puffs along the curve of his ear. 

This new bed, with a new mattress, starched and stiff, with new grey sheets stretched over it, looks awfully too big to Doyoung for some reason. 

_(No, he knows the exact reason. He just wants to pretend like he doesn’t know.)_

He sleeps fitfully in his new apartment alone that night, surrounded by open boxes half-empty and half-unpacked, his blanket wrapped tightly around him. His blue mug left in the sink, one toothbrush in the cup above his sink. The cold of loneliness seeps through the thick fabric of his blanket, settling under his nape, and Doyoung tries not to imagine warm long fingers curling into his hair and settling around the small of his back to bring him closer. He ignores the unmade pile of clothes dumped half-heartedly into his wardrobe, pointedly attempts to disregard a familiar hoodie shoved under said pile. A hoodie with the Vetements font printed across the front, a hoodie too big for him, a hoodie that definitely didn’t belong to him, smelling of pine and honey from a cologne that did not exist in his personal collection. 

Doyoung tries not to dream of Johnny. 

_(He does anyway. He dreams of kissing Johnny, mouths slow and tongues gentle, Johnny’s hands wrapped around his waist, their foreheads pressed together. He dreams of Johnny smiling against his lips, his fingers splayed across the smooth planes of Johnny’s abs as Johnny coaxes his mouth open and whispers the three words that make his heart tremble and fireworks explode through his veins._

_~~I love you.~~ _

_He doesn’t say it back, but he just kisses Johnny again. Again. Again and again._

_He knows that Johnny knows.)_

\--

“Dongyoung?” 

He hasn’t been called by that name in years. Doyoung tamps down the shiver that had shot down his spine at the familiar voice saying a name that he would rather not be associated with again. He exhales slowly, counts his breaths before turning around to greet the person whose shadow had fallen over his table. 

“Kyuhyun-hyung?” 

Kyuhyun smiles at him through the mask covering half his face, his dark brown hair styled in gentle curls on his head. He’s dressed simply in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and he tugs his white facemask down beneath his chin to reveal his small, but sincere smile. 

“That’s me. Long time no see, Dongyoung.” 

Seven years ago, Doyoung’s heart would have somersaulted out of his chest at this small smile. He remembers it, the feeling of being infatuated wholly with Kyuhyun, the older boy who was much cooler than him, who had a voice like honey and encouraged Doyoung to sing love ballads with him. He remembers Kyuhyun’s hand on his thigh, burning through his jeans, heat high on his cheekbones as the older boy leaned in to press their lips together, sticky and sweet from the lime-flavoured popsicle that they had shared. 

Doyoung had braces back then, cheeks a little too full, and a smile that was too awkward. The fact that Kyuhyun had even noticed him at all felt like a dream. Kissing Kyuhyun was an out-of-body experience, Doyoung remembered feeling weirdly dislocated from the memory of the older boy teaching him how to kiss with tongue as he surrendered his first kiss to the first boy that he had ever fallen in love with. 

That boy eventually went on to become one of the most famous solo artists ever, his debut single topping all the major charts in Korea, leaving Doyoung behind with nothing but memories sticky with candied kisses and awkward handjobs exchanged in the intimate darkness of his childhood bedroom at the lakehouse. 

Doyoung remembers those times at the lakehouse, in the same bedroom that he had brought Johnny into, when he was barely fifteen years old and enamoured with Kyuhyun. Their mothers were friends in the industry, their fathers business partners, and Kyuhyun spent most of his time playing with Doyoung and his brother in empty conference rooms at the companies. He remembers that memory of his mother inviting Kyuhyun’s family over to that very same lakehouse in Georgia. He remembers looking at Kyuhyun over the book that he was supposed to be focusing on, his heart doing weird flips in his chest as the older boy slicked his wet hair back and splashed his brother in the lake. He remembers all the nights Kyuhyun snuck into his bedroom to kiss him, sloppy tongue and wet lips, inexperienced hands sliding into each other’s pants and his virgin cock jumping at another boy’s touch. 

Kyuhyun was a lot of Doyoung’s firsts. For a long time, Doyoung thought that he would be his forever too. So he wrote lyrics about it, in a notebook with a blue cover with a bunny sticker stuck onto the corner, courtesy of the muse himself. _You look like a bunny_ , Kyuhyun had told him, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he smoothed the sticker over the corner that he had stuck it on. _Cute. You’re cute, Dongyoung-ah._

But Kyuhyun cared more about his dreams than all the kisses and awkward teenage sex that he shared with Doyoung in the darkness of his bedroom. So he auditioned for companies, spent barely a year training before he debuted with a ballad and the single appeared atop every single music chart. Everything Doyoung saw of him after his debut was limited to digital screens, tears sliding involuntarily down his cheeks as he watched Kyuhyun answer questions like _what’s your ideal girl type_ and _what’s your favourite ice cream flavour_ in interviews under his blanket. 

“Long time no see,” the words are awkward on his tongue. Doyoung’s not sure if he should stand, or offer a handshake. Kyuhyun doesn’t look like he’s going to sit down. He opts for both, the screech of his chair legs loud against the tiles of the cafe as he sticks his hand out. Kyuhyun takes his hand gingerly, his grin widening as their hands fall back to their sides. 

“Still get cold easily, huh?”

Doyoung shrugs. It had never really bothered him, honestly. It had given him excuses upon excuses to steal his friends’ sweaters and cardigans; except he doesn’t really do it to anyone other than Johnny. Johnny is the only one with a frame broader than his anyway, he tells himself, the only one taller and obviously bigger than Doyoung. It’s not the way that he finds the pine notes of Johnny’s cologne comforting, it’s not the way that he feels warm and protected in Johnny’s worn hoodies and it’s definitely nothing to do with how much he yearns for Johnny’s physical presence so _fucking_ much. 

“I saw the news,” he swallows, the lump in his throat going down easily, less painful than expected. “So you’re engaged now. Congratulations.”

Kyuhyun smiles at him widely now, his eyes crinkled up into crescents, and the image weirdly reminds Doyoung of Johnny. Johnny smiling up at him, face pushed into Doyoung’s palm, pressing kisses to the skin there and muttering _I love you I love you I love you_ like he wanted to tattoo the words under Doyoung’s skin permanently with his voice alone. 

“Thank you,” Kyuhyun shifts a little, fingers twisting around the handle of the paperbag, presumably containing his takeaway order. “Ah, I didn’t expect to run into you here.” 

“I’m here for work.” It’s surprisingly easy, telling Kyuhyun where he is in life now. “I’m going to be working as an actuarial analyst here, at a branch here in New York. I start work next month officially, but I have been here for about two weeks now, unpacking my things and getting to know the neighbourhood better.” 

“Ah,” Kyuhyun nods carefully. “Congratulations, Dongyoung-ah.” 

_Two whole weeks of not seeing Johnny, of not texting Johnny, of not updating Johnny on anything in his life._

Doyoung nods awkwardly. “Thank you.” 

Kyuhyun tilts his head to look at the street outside for a bit, his eyes searching momentarily before he finds whatever he is looking for and his gaze snaps sharply back to Doyoung. He looks apologetic, cautious, and for some reason Doyoung knows what he wants to say. He doesn’t know if he wants to hear the words, not with the seven years of distance between them, not with the haphazard careless way that Kyuhyun had broken things off and left his fifteen-year-old heart in shambles. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Doyoung sniffs, watches his phone light up with a message. “For what?” 

The older man has the decency to look guilty, and something like petty satisfaction swells in Doyoung’s chest. “For dumping you like that, for not properly breaking up with you. I took advantage of your crush on me back then. I just liked the attention, but that’s not an excuse for just leaving you without any way to contact me after I passed the auditions.” 

Internally, Doyoung scoffs. He doesn’t need an apology from Kyuhyun, honestly. He has long realised that he had been taken advantage of, even if it had taken nights of crying into Taeyong’s shoulder and getting drunk at Ten’s illegal parties for him to get over what could have been labeled his first love. He’s not sure if it was his first proper relationship, not when all the lines were so blurry and his infatuation with Kyuhyun was so overwhelming that it blocked out any little logic that his tiny teenager brain had contained back then. But he had cried so much, beat himself up over Kyuhyun leaving him for no reason, only to eventually come to the epiphany that he _did_ deserve better than whatever shambles of a first relationship that he had with the older boy, borne out of a burning desire to be loved and to be touched intimately in the darkness of his childhood bedroom in the lakehouse. 

Doyoung remembers Johnny tangled in his sheets, his hands trembling on the curve of Doyoung’s waist, the quiver of his lips as he presses his face into Doyoung’s neck. He thinks about Johnny’s face, illuminated by the pale yellow of the moonlight, his hands tight over Doyoung’s, his voice barely a whisper as he tells Doyoung that he is the best thing to ever happen in his own life. Johnny, with a perfect family, a wonderful childhood, with the most supportive friends and the biggest heart, had called _Doyoung_ the best thing in his life. He feels the phantom heat of Johnny wrapped around him, whispering _I love you I love you I love you_ into Doyoung’s skin in between kisses, surrendering his heart and soul and laying it bare in Doyoung’s hands for him to do whatever Doyoung pleased with it. 

“Apology accepted, I guess,” he _really_ wants to call Johnny right now, to hear his voice, to stop this awkward conversation with Kyuhyun. “It’s not a big deal, honestly. I’m genuinely happy for your career success, and your engagement. We were young back then, but, thank you for apologising, I guess.” 

Kyuhyun inclines his head awkwardly, and his phone buzzes in his hand. Doyoung watches him check the screen before a smile stretches his face in the most tender way as he unlocks the phone to type a quick response. 

“Sorry, I gotta go,” Kyuhyun sinks his teeth into his lower lip, and the words come out in a rush before Doyoung can even open his own mouth. “It was nice seeing you again, Dongyoung-ah. Thank you for accepting my apology, even if it doesn’t mean much to you.” 

Doyoung shakes his head, his chest weirdly numb, his mind scattered. He just wants to go home to his apartment at this point. “It’s fine.” 

“See you around, maybe.” 

Just like that, Kyuhyun is gone again from his life. Doyoung’s fingers are shaking around his phone, and he stares blankly as messages from Taeyong, Yuta, and Kun fill up his screen, together with some emails coming into his new official work username. He gets home somehow, with his thoughts tangled in a mess, his feet stumbling through the New York crowds, and he lets out a wet sound that is close to a sob the moment his electronic lock tinkles behind him. 

He knows that look on Kyuhyun’s face. He’s seen it before, everywhere. On Jaehyun’s face when he looks at Taeyong, on Kun’s face as he watches Ten attempt to cook a dish for him, on Yuta’s face as one of Mark’s Instagram posts pop up on his feed. 

_(On Johnny’s face as he stares up at him in between Doyoung’s legs. Even with Johnny’s cheek pressed against his stiff cock, Johnny’s lips swollen and Johnny’s face damp with sweat from sex, he knows that look. The same look that makes fireworks burst under his skin and send tingles of warmth all the way down to his toes and culminates in a tight ball of warmth that aches in his chest. He knows it, wonders why he hadn’t noticed it before.)_

Kyuhyun is actually in love. Not infatuation, but real, tender, ardent love with someone. 

Doyoung covers his face and tries not to cry as he sinks down onto the floor of his silent apartment. 

\-- 

_“I think we shouldn’t contact each other for a bit.”_

_Johnny’s hand stills around his wrist from where he has been stroking his thumb over Doyoung’s pulse. Tenderly, carefully, gently. He pulls Doyoung’s arm up to kiss the tender spot there, his lips warm and soft, and Doyoung honestly wants to cry and take back his words._

_“Why?”_

_He watches Johnny kiss a trail up his hand, nuzzling softly into his palm and he wonders if he’s being too harsh. His heartbeat is painful with every thud, every word that is settled on the tip of his tongue, but he knows that he needs this. He needs the space to think for himself, to have the distance between him and Johnny so that he can figure out his own feelings with regard to this entire situation._

_“I just,” Doyoung swallows, lets his thumb run gently across the curve of Johnny’s cheek._

_“Will you look at me, John?”_

_Johnny looks up at him, eyes warm and filled with what he recognises as_ love _and Doyoung just wants to bury his face into Johnny’s chest and not care about the future coming up ahead of them. He thinks, if he had a chance to choose a slip in time to relive again and again, he’d want to relive this particular week with Johnny. To love Johnny ardently and openly, with his mouth and his body and his heart, to kiss Johnny and flirt with him without the worried gazes of Taeyong and Yuta burning into his back. To realise that Johnny loves him back, to have that feeling of reciprocated tender, fervid love that both burns and soothes him simultaneously overtaking his body and his mind. To live forever in that moment of fondness and affection and adoration interlaced with lust and serenity, wrapped up in Johnny, free from the relentless movement of time ticking forward and the reality of moving apart from each other coming with it._

_“I think, I need some time to think about us. To get used to living without you, physically at least. To think about my feelings, to think about what I want with you. To think about whether I will be able to be enough for you. Or at least, think about how I can be enough for you, if we are to move forward with a long-distance relationship that is more than friendship that will last for at least three to five years.”_

_Johnny’s eyes are wet, and his fingers are barely twitching against’s Doyoung’s wrist. But he still reaches down to intertwine their fingers together, and Doyoung wants to kiss his tears away like how Johnny has done for him the night before. But he doesn’t dare, so he just lets Johnny press their foreheads together, his heart shuddering as he waits for Johnny to respond to his words._

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s so selfish of me to ask, you can just tell me if you don’t wa-”_

_“No, Doie. Don’t apologise. Please.”_

_The words are a whisper, Johnny’s breath warm against his own wet cheeks, and Doyoung’s chest just clenches as the elder carefully wipes his tears away with his thumbs. He waits, his eyes trained on the quiver of Johnny’s lower lips, Johnny’s palms curved around his chin, and his fingers twitching with the want to hold Johnny, to pull him closer. But he doesn’t deserve it, Doyoung thinks, not when he’s being so cruel and selfish with Johnny’s entire heart vulnerable and naked in his own shaking hands._

_“You can take all the time you need, Doie. If you need me, for whatever reason at all, I will just be a call or a text away. I won’t contact you first. I’ll let you have your space and leave you to your thoughts.”_

_“It’s so unfair to you,” he says to the curve of Johnny’s jaw, unable to look at the man who has somehow decided to entrust his heart to him. “I understand if you don’t want to try anymore with me, really. I understand completely. You don’t have to force yourself for me, Johnny.”_

_Johnny leans down to kiss him. Once, soft, gentle. “I’m not, Doie. I still want to try.”_

_Doyoung hates himself for kissing back automatically. It’s like breathing - he does it even without thinking. He doesn’t deserve to kiss Johnny, he thinks. Johnny shouldn’t be kissing him, holding him close, telling him that he loves Doyoung in unsaid ways like the gentle cradle of his palms against Doyoung’s face, like the reassuring anchor in the way he tangles their legs together under the smooth silk sheets on the bed._

_“Why?”_

_Johnny kisses him again. Open-mouthed, tender, unsaid promises loaded on his tongue._

_“You’re worth trying for, Doyoung. You’re enough for me. Even if you don’t think so yourself.”_

\-- 

So he’s here, trying to ignore Johnny’s Instagram stories, trying to ignore the chat that had previously always occupied the top of the list in his Messages app. He’s here, in an apartment that has nothing of Johnny’s except for that one Vetements hoodie shoved into the back of his closet, watching the photographs of Johnny’s high school on his screen, his thumb hovering across the elder’s face stretched out in a smile under windswept hair. 

Doyoung thinks about the package that he had dropped off at the post office before he had gotten back into Donghyun’s car and begun the drive to New York. It’s a bit silly, honestly, asking his famous brother to share the drive with him, but Donghyun had immediately agreed to his request, saying that he was on a break from schedules anyways. So they had taken turns behind the steering wheel, singing along to old songs from Girls Generation and SHINee throughout the journey while Doyoung reminded himself not to put on the driving playlist that he and Johnny had made for all their weekend trips back then in the second year of university where it had all began. 

He hopes that the package had arrived safely at its destination. He has no way of knowing, unless he sends a text, but he doesn’t think he’s ready to send it yet.

Doyoung wonders if there is a manual titled “A Guide to Loving John Suh”. There _must_ be a correct way to love Johnny, he thinks. A way of loving Johnny that only Johnny deserves, with his big heart and his wide smile and his neverending selflessness and his unabashed open affections for people in his life. Johnny only deserves the best - in everything, in life, in his career, _especially_ in a partner that is supposed to love him in a way that goes beyond best friends that go on weekend trips together. 

He stares at his phone, hovering over the chat with Johnny before another chat jumps to the top, signaling that there is a new message from someone else. 

_**Ten Lee:** how’s ny bitch_

Huh, there _might_ be a manual, Doyoung thinks. 

\-- 

_“So he confessed that he loves you, and you said it back.”_

Doyoung exhales in one long breath, watching as the white smoke curls and twists before disappearing into the cold air. He taps off the ash at the end of his lit cigarette, watching it fall onto the clean tiles of his balcony and puts it back to his lips. 

“Yeah.” 

Ten makes a soft exclamation in Thai, and Doyoung wants to punch him. But Ten is in Thailand, twelve hours ahead of him, and Doyoung honestly really wants to sleep. But he can’t, because he needs answers, needs to know how Johnny has to be treated in a relationship, because now that he has agreed to try it, he needs to make sure that he has to do _something_ right.

“Don’t laugh at me, Chittaphon,” he grumbles into the receiver as he stares across the bright lights of the city. Johnny would have loved this view, he thinks idly; he would have pulled out both his film camera and his DSLR, and Doyoung would have just watched him fondly as he fumbled with his equipment and took brilliant photos of the night view. 

_“Gods, so are you guys, like, finally dating?”_

_“Who’s finally dating who, babe?”_

Doyoung groans as he hears Kun’s voice on the other end. He takes another long drag, lets the nicotine sit in his lungs for a bit before he speaks again. 

“No, we’re not.” 

Ten lets out another unintelligible jumble of words in a mixture of Thai, English and Chinese, and Doyoung rolls his eyes as he closes his eyes. He still sees Johnny there behind his eyelids, right beside him on this tiny balcony attached to a ridiculously overpriced apartment in New York, smiling widely at him with his camera in his hands as he leans down to press his lips against Doyoung’s tenderly. 

_“I’m sorry. What the fuck? Doesn’t dating usually come after a confession?”_

“I, uhm, I don’t know?” Doyoung cracks open his eyelids, his lips tingling from the thoughts and memories of kissing Johnny in the lakehouse, feeling the phantom touches of Johnny’s hands around his waist and his back. He shudders, shuts his eyes tightly and inhales another drag of nicotine, the bitterness spreading across his tongue. 

_“What the fuck do you not know, Kim Dongyoung?”_

“It’s just,” Doyoung doesn’t even know where to start. “I don’t know. Aren’t you angry at me for fucking your ex for one entire week? You know, bros before hoes, chicks before dicks, yada yada yada, friendship code or bro code whatever. You’re not supposed to fuck your friend’s ex in the first place, so I’m sure falling in love with your friend’s ex is like, I don’t know, some level that is even worse than the first one.” 

_“Oh my god, Kim Dongyoung. What the fuck?”_

“Don’t fucking laugh at me, Chittaphon,” Doyoung sighs exasperatedly as the Thai dissolves into a fix of giggles. He _really_ wants to punch Ten now - fuck ten years of friendship and bonding over how they absolutely hate stupid rigged award ceremonies or whatever, right? 

“I swear to motherfucking _god_ , Chittaphon. I’m actually being considerate of your feelings for once, what the fuck?” 

_“God, Doie. What the fuck. You’re so stupid.”_

Doyoung’s eyes snap open, and his spine goes rigidly straight in reflex. “I’m _what_?” 

_“Stupid.”_ Ten repeats into the receiver, and Doyoung really wishes that he has a voodoo doll of his best friend right now so that he can stab some needles into its crotch because Ten fucking _deserves_ the pain. 

“Wow, thanks for being so helpful,” he says sarcastically. “I’m hanging up now.” 

_“No, Kim Dongyoung, you better don’t.”_

Doyoung sighs, stares at his cigarette burning slowly in between his fingers. He inhales again, watches the end light up in a bright orange with the drag before dimming out again. He thinks about Johnny, curled over the edge of his balcony, shirtless with tousled black hair. He thinks about tucking himself into Johnny’s side, leaning up to kiss Johnny’s jaw and his heart tumbles around in a weak somersault that aches just a little bit more than usual. 

“Don’t call me by that name,” he mutters sullenly into the phone. “You know I hate it.”

 _“Kim Doyoung, then,”_ Ten’s voice is crisp and clear, completely devoid of any teasing or amusement now. 

_“So tell me, honestly. Don’t you fucking dare lie to me bitch, I_ will _know. So why aren’t you and Johnny being all gross and dating and sucking face like you should have been since I don’t know, two years ago?”_

Doyoung blinks, the ash falling from his cigarette. “What?” 

Ten huffs in disbelief, and Doyoung can imagine his exaggerated eyerolls without actually seeing them in person. _“God, you’re so fucking stupid, Doie. Did you seriously think that sleeping with Johnny and falling in love with him was betraying me?”_

“Maybe,” Doyoung mutters, something heavy and cold in the pits of his stomach. “I still care for you, Tennie. You are so very important to me, regardless of whatever feelings I have for John. I don’t want to betray you or make you feel like shit, you know, because I stole your ex that you were pretty much in love with for a whole year.” 

_“Oh, Doie,”_ Ten’s voice is soft, and Doyoung feels something squeeze inside of him at the warmth in his best friend’s words. _“Doie, no. I don’t feel like that at all. I was the one who broke up with Johnny, remember?”_

Doyoung has nothing to say to that, so Ten just continues talking. 

_“Listen, Doie. You were right when you told me that Johnny was the best thing that happened to me. Well, before Kun came along, anyways. But, honestly, in terms of things that have ever happened to Johnny, and he is my best friend as much as you are mine,_ **you __**_are the best thing that has ever happened to him. It’s undeniable. It’s no surprise that he fell in love with you.”_

Something in Doyoung’s chest unsticks a little, preens a bit at Ten’s words. He hurriedly clamps it down, taps a finger on the edge of the balcony and tries to ignore the ball of emotions swelling up in his throat. 

“I don’t know, Tennie,” he admits quietly, the only witness to his words being the smoke escaping from his lit cigarette against the backdrop of New York and its city lights. “I don’t know. I feel like I don’t deserve his love, you know. I’m, me. I’m still trying to deal with my childhood trauma and not being wanted by my parents, and still trying to come to terms that I deserve affection and my achievements that I have worked for. I’m still working on a lot of things, still working on myself. I don’t know if who I am now, at this point, deserves love. Especially from someone like John, you know?” 

_“Oh, Doie.”_

Ten’s voice is soft, a little sad, and Doyoung feels the guilt pool at the back of his throat when he realises that he has made his friend upset. He opens his mouth, an apology at the tip of his tongue, but the Thai cuts him off before he could say the words into the receiver.

_“Don’t apologise, Doie. You deserve love, you deserve your achievements, no matter what you think. We had this conversation before, remember? You deserve all the things you have, because you have worked for it.”_

“I don’t think I have worked enough for John’s love though.” 

Ten sighs quietly. _“Did you tell him that? Were you honest?”_

“Yeah,” Doyoung wonders where this conversation is going. Ten hums, and Doyoung hears the telltale hiss of a lighter on the other end of the line before Ten exhales loudly and speaks again. 

_“And what did he say?”_

Doyoung stares at his naked feet, the tiles cold under his skin. “He said I was enough.” 

The words are foreign on his tongue. They sound better when Johnny says them, he thinks. 

_“Then you are enough.”_

Doyoung doesn’t know what to say to that. He just listens to Ten take drags of his own cigarette on the other end, counting the seconds of his best friend’s exhales silently in his head as he stares across at the dark skyline dotted with a myriad of multicoloured lights. The things he would do, he thinks, to have Johnny standing beside him to share the view, to share the apartment, to share the many achievements and milestones in his life, to share all of the ones in Johnny’s as the clock continues to tick and they continue to grow older in age. 

_“Doie?”_

“Hm?” 

Ten pauses for a bit before he speaks. _“What do you want to do now?”_

Doyoung blinks. He puts out his cigarette on the handle of the railing, doesn’t bother to light another one as he adjusts his phone’s position to his ear. “I don’t understand.” 

_“When you think of Johnny, what is the first thing that you want to do?”_

He thinks about Johnny’s smiling face in Chicago, the blurry pictures of Johnny in his familiar black Honda taken by Mark. He thinks about drinking soju with Johnny, seated on the patio of his large family home, watching the morning sun peek above the horizon and slowly turn the dark blue of the night sky into shades of orange and yellow. He thinks about kissing Johnny in _Johnny’s_ childhood bedroom, Johnny’s fingers tight against his waist, his tongue warm and heavy in Doyoung’s mouth. He thinks about all of it, thinks about calling Johnny every day, thinks about how his heart jumps whenever Johnny sends him a text, even if it's filled with only emojis. He thinks about a drawer in his apartment filled with Johnny’s clothes, another toothbrush beside his in the cup above the sink in his bathroom, two mugs on the drying rack in his kitchen. He thinks about searching for Johnny in the arrival halls at airports, thinks about their eyes meeting in the crowd like in the movies, thinks about the way he just wants to fall into Johnny’s arms and kiss him unashamedly like how they had done for the entire one week at the lakehouse when it was just the two of them. 

Doyoung swallows, and his heart is jumping at an uneven staccato rhythm, but his head is clear. 

“I want to see him.” 

Ten hums quietly in acknowledgement. He hasn’t hung up yet, and for that, Doyoung is grateful. 

_“What’s stopping you?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: the google doc has now reached more than 100 pages :D


	11. back to you, it's coming all back to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> missed me? :D 
> 
> i have no excuses for this coming so late, but i hope you enjoy this chapter <3 
> 
> suggested music for this chapter is [taylor swift's state of grace](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HfRwdGzS1m0) and [sparks fly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKar-tF__ac)
> 
> (p.s. like i mentioned, i will be replying comments now that this chapter is posted!)
> 
> (p.p.s. i _really_ hope you enjoy this chapter :3)

For once, Johnny wishes that Doyoung is just a little more active on Instagram. 

He usually doesn’t mind it that Doyoung doesn’t bother with social media, other than some song covers that he uploads every now and then. But that was before he had agreed to give Doyoung some space, before they had promised each other to take some time to spend apart from each other - to try living without each other for a bit. He had easily said yes to the words that had rolled off Doyoung’s tongue, aware of how fragile the younger had been in his arms, falling apart at the seams and barely holding himself together even as his fingers dug into Johnny’s arms like he never wanted to let go.

His parents had been surprised to learn that he was no longer going to New York with Doyoung, but they didn’t really ask questions. His mother had complained about making too much food instead, chastising Johnny for not telling her earlier and going on and on about how she had purposely prepared an array of side dishes for Doyoung’s new fridge in New York because every Korean child deserves that. Johnny didn’t miss the nervous looks that she had shot in his direction when she thought he wasn’t looking, her brows furrowed, and the unspoken question perched on the tip of her tongue. 

It is Johnny’s dad who addresses the elephant in the room first, unexpectedly. 

“Did you fight with Doyoung?”

They are sitting on the patio, beer cans half-empty beside them, and the question just drops right there. His father isn’t looking at him as he says it, occupied with scrolling his Facebook timeline and watching random Tiktoks that start automatically playing when they come up. 

Johnny doesn’t quite know how to answer. Not when the mere mention of _Doyoung_ makes something twitch in his chest in a dull ache. 

“No,” he finally settles on that, choosing to watch his dog run across the lawn in pursuit of a butterfly. “It wasn’t anything like that. There are no bad feelings, we didn’t fall out.” 

His father hums, lifts the beer can to his mouth for a sip. Johnny reaches for the toy beside him, whistles sharply to get his dog’s attention and watches contentedly as the little dark head with perky black ears jerks around to look at him. He snaps his wrist, following the blur of black fondly as it zips away to catch the toy being flung away from them. 

“But he’s going to New York alone?” 

Johnny thinks about Doyoung alone in New York, meeting new people, thinks about the many cashiers that have casually given Doyoung their numbers scribbled across the back of receipts, and that ugly feeling rises in his throat again. He reaches for his own beer, takes a few mouthfuls before he decides to respond. 

“Yeah, we agreed on that.” 

Their family dog comes bounding back, the little rubber bone clutched tightly between his jaws, and Johnny automatically reaches for him. They had gotten Spark one year after Johnny had left for university, as a companion for his mother who had decided to quit her full-time job and work freelance from home instead. Johnny remembers picking him up at the adoption centre, a cute little black _shiba inu_ who had leaped into his arms during the very first first visit. He, too, remembers taking lots of pictures of Spark and sending them to Doyoung, coupled with messages filled with emojis and words gushing about how this dog is now the love of his life. 

Doyoung had simply sent the eye-rolling emoji back, but still demanded that Johnny show him more dog pictures when they were reunited for the new semester. The next break, Johnny had fallen a little more in love, with both of them, as he watched Spark stretch up to plaster Doyoung’s face with long licks of affection. The younger wouldn’t stop giggling, his eyes curved into tight crescents with his gummy smile on full display as he scratched that spot under Spark’s chin that Johnny knew drove his dog absolutely crazy. 

Spark drops the toy into his lap, but doesn’t run off like he usually does. Instead, he stares up at Johnny quietly, tail wagging a little more slowly as his dark head tilted slowly to one side. _Where’s Doyoung_ , his dog seems to be asking him, and Johnny suddenly realises that this is perhaps the first break where he had returned home without Doyoung by his side. 

Of course his dog would miss Doyoung more than him, the actual owner. _Traitor_ , he thinks, just the slightest bit bitter, as he reaches a hand out to rub at that spot behind Spark’s ears. 

“Don’t project your frustrations onto the dog, John,” his father says into the rim of his beer can. 

So much for fathers being emotionally distant, Johnny thinks. His father seems to be more aware of the battle going on between his heart and his head, compared to his mother who has been hovering around him, afraid to touch on the sensitive topics of Doyoung not visiting and Johnny not going to New York that she believes are definitely correlated. 

“I miss him,” he says into sunset, alcohol warm under his skin as Spark nudges his nose under Johnny’s chin. He must have felt his owner’s distress - Johnny feels guilty for calling him a traitor now. He misses Doyoung, feels the other’s absence in corners of his heart that he didn’t even know existed. There is an ache that thrums in the most tender spots of his very being, that deep-seated yearning for something that smells like home in the comforting scents of clean laundry and sharp citrus. 

Spark noses at his jaw with a small whine, and Johnny buries his face into soft black fur. There is a small clink as his father sets his beer can down on the patio and stretches languidly as the sun slowly slides out of sight and makes way for the darkness of the night.

“I’m sure he misses you too, John.” 

Johnny doesn’t open his eyes even as Spark wriggles out from his hands to curl up at his feet, pressing his warm lithe body close to his owner. An unspoken gesture of comfort, like how Doyoung always reaches out to hold his hand whenever he senses Johnny’s distress, like how Johnny’s hand automatically finds the small of Doyoung’s back whenever that muscle in Doyoung’s jaw twitches as a reflex. They are so attuned to each other, so inherently conscious of each other’s moods and small ticks, that comfort comes automatically most of the time. There had never been any need for big gestures of lots of words, just both them wrapped up in each other on Doyoung’s couch, takeout and beer on the table before them, the silence between them filled with unspoken promises to always be there for each other no matter what. 

Right now, it’s just him here alone in Chicago, while Doyoung is alone in New York. 

Somewhere in his heart, Johnny hopes bitterly that Doyoung misses him just as much, that this separation is taking a toll on the other as well. A petty thought, if he is being honest. The other parts of his heart that are still wholly in love with Doyoung chastises him for wanting Doyoung to be hurt, reminding him that Doyoung is already hurting even without this separation. 

He thinks about the unreadable look in Doyoung’s eyes as they had looked at each other for one last time before parting ways two weeks ago. Johnny had been standing on the doorstep of Ten’s house, his key in the lock, and some selfish part of him had made him turn around to catch one last glimpse of Doyoung, even if it was just the tail of his expensive car.

Instead, their eyes had met, through the thin glass barrier of Doyoung’s window in between both of them, and the ache inside of Johnny’s chest grew to a pounding that crashed against his ribs. _Go back to him_ , the voice in his head had whispered, _go to him. Hold him tight and never let him go. Go back to him, hold him, catch him before he slips out of your hands again_.

Doyoung had stared back at him, hands tight on the steering wheel, his eyes wide and shiny. Johnny had nearly done that, left the keys in the door to cross the distance between the two of them and kissed Doyoung senseless once the window was rolled down. But he hadn’t done that. Doyoung hadn’t moved either, and they had just stared at each other, the moment perched precariously between the two of them, like a glass ball resting right on the edge of the table on the verge of falling off and shattering into a million pieces on the floor. 

Somehow, in that moment, Johnny doesn’t know what possessed him to turn the key in the lock and tear his eyes away from Doyoung. He remembers sinking into his bed, face planted into his pillow, and despite his bed being only a single, he has never felt so alone. Sleeping without Doyoung is hard, harder now that he knows that his feelings are reciprocated, now that he has a taste of Doyoung in bed, has experienced kissing Doyoung whenever he wants to without holding back his feelings. 

The week at the lakehouse had barely ended, but Johnny remembers feeling like it was nothing but a distant memory back then. It still feels like that now, even as the images of Doyoung are still fresh in his mind. Doyoung, marked up with hickies from his teeth, dressed in his shirt, leaning over the counter to kiss Johnny softly, warm against his side with his face tucked into Johnny’s neck as he whispered ever so softly against Johnny’s pulse. 

_I love you. I love you, Johnny. I love you._

Johnny tips back the can and doesn’t answer. The beer is warm down his throat, and it settles into the bottom of his stomach. 

It’s both vaguely bitter yet a little comforting. Maybe that’s how regret tastes like. 

\-- 

There is a package sitting on the kitchen table with his name on it. 

His mom pops her head out from where she is preparing for dinner. Johnny knows because he can smell the spiciness of braised pork simmering on the stove, a special recipe that she had refused to tell Johnny. However, during his first visit to Johnny’s home, Doyoung had somehow managed to wrangle her into agreeing to let him help her in the kitchen, and he had spent the entire week chatting to her while chopping vegetables and arranging spices. Johnny remembers staring at him fondly, catching the slightly bewildered look in Doyoung’s eyes as his mother reached up to pinch his cheek affectionately, giggling at him as _kimchi jiggae_ boiled in a gentle hum on the stove between the two people that he loves the most. 

Call him biased, but yes, he is a mama’s boy. He’s not exactly ashamed of admitting it. 

The week after they had returned to Connecticut for the new semester, Doyoung had reproduced his mother’s famous spicy braised pork for dinner, pointedly ignoring Johnny’s barrage of questions because _how the fuck_ did Doyoung get his mom to divulge her secret recipe. Instead, he had shoved Johnny in the direction of the kitchen, telling him to get the side dishes in the fridge, which was of course well-stocked with a variety of food, all thanks to Johnny’s mother fretting over Doyoung being too thin.

Maybe that was the first time that Johnny realised that his definition of ‘home’ had changed. It no longer just included his parents, his dog, weekends in Chicago with Mark and Jaehyun driving around the neighbourhood and playing hide-and-seek in Target despite the fact that they were no longer nine years old anymore. 

Doyoung has become part of it too - his home. 

That was the revelation that Johnny had come to, sitting opposite Doyoung at his tiny dining table filled with a combination of food made by both his mother and Doyoung, and watching Doyoung laugh into his hand as Johnny struggled with fitting a particularly big portion of rice and pork into his mouth. He wants more moments like this, he remembers thinking, more than all the weekend trips and the stolen moments kept between the two of them. He wants to have meals with Doyoung, wants to bring Doyoung to meet his parents at his childhood home regularly, wants to sit at the same table with them and bask in the warm fuzzy feelings that have settled in his very being from watching his parents laugh at Doyoung’s anecdotes with the most endeared looks stretching their faces wide. 

“John, love? That arrived for you when you were out at the store.” 

“Thanks mama,” he sets the grocery bags down at the counter and approaches the box cautiously. He doesn’t remember ordering anything, doesn’t remember sending himself anything from Connecticut. The box is a weird shape too, awfully square and a little too light, weighing close to nothing in his arms. 

“John? My love?” 

His mother sounds nervous. Johnny turns around to look at her, watches her pick at her nails, a nervous tick that she had always had. She presses her lips together, like she’s steeling herself to do something, before she opens her mouth again. 

“Did something happen between you and Doyoung? Is that why he didn’t visit like both of you had promised previously?” 

Johnny stares at the ground, unsure how to answer again. He doesn’t want to lie to his mother. On the contrary, he wants to run into her arms, tell her everything, and cry into her lap. He wants nothing more for her to tell her that everything will be alright, that Doyoung will come back to him, that it will all work out and somehow, they will have their happy-ever-after. That Doyoung will come back and visit her and his father with Johnny like they have always done during semester breaks since their second year. 

But he doesn’t. There’s no guarantee that these things will happen, and he doesn’t know if Doyoung will ever come back to visit. He doesn’t even know if Doyoung will still be his friend. 

_Fuck,_ that last part kind of hurt more than anything else. 

“Kind of,” he finds himself saying to the clean tiles of his childhood home, unable to meet his mother’s eyes. “We’re kind of working it out, but it will take some time.”

There are warm arms around him, his mother dragging him down to meet her smaller form, and Johnny automatically wraps an arm around her waist, his other hand occupied with holding the package. He presses his forehead into his mother’s shoulder, feeling so small despite the clear difference in their physical heights, and he wants nothing more than to curl into her comforting presence and ignore the heavy feeling that had settled in his heart after somehow stepping away from Doyoung two weeks ago. 

“It will be fine, my love,” his mother says quietly into his ear, her arms thin and small, but still anchoring him to reality while wrapping him in a blanket of warmth, of reassurance. “Both of you are stronger than you think. Trust him, John. He has always trusted you.” 

Johnny thinks about the haunted look in Doyoung’s eyes as he opened the door on his side, feels the phantom heat of Doyoung’s palm burnt into his skin as he caught Johnny’s wrist just before the older stepped out. He remembers meeting Doyoung’s gaze, wide and desperate, but also underlaid with an unspoken promise, backed by the steel in his very being that Johnny has always admired, always relentlessly chased after because it simply made Doyoung more _beautiful_ than he already was. 

He nearly laughs out loud at himself for being so _stupid_. Of course, there he goes again, too wrapped up in his own emotions to actually properly look at Doyoung and take the other’s feelings into consideration. Of course, the person who would call him out on it, who would remind him that more than anything else, Doyoung trusts Johnny with his life, that Johnny trusts him too with his own, was his mother. _Mother knows best_ , they said in books and in poems, and Johnny believes that they are right. His mother _does_ know him best. 

“Thank you, mama,” he whispers, the words too vulnerable in the moment. “Thank you for reminding me of that.” 

His mother pulls away, pats his cheek gently and moves back to the kitchen with the smallest smile on her face. Johnny tucks the box under his arm and heads up to his room, pulling his phone out of his back pocket out of habit as the door closes behind him. 

The screech of metal tearing through tape is vaguely satisfying in the empty silence of his room. Johnny’s heart nearly stops when he catches a glimpse of something familiar, something grey and white, soft and round wrapped in plastic. He pulls open the cardboard flaps, and something warm blooms in his chest as he carefully lifts the only content of the package out of the box and sets it down. 

It is Doyoung’s gray penguin, wrapped in a layer of protective plastic, that is sitting on his bed. 

_Trust him_ , his mother’s words echo in his ears. _He has always trusted you_.

Johnny tears off the plastic, buries his head into the soft tummy of the penguin plushie and lets his tears soak into the fabric as he sinks onto his knees and hugs it closer. 

Even with the distance between them, Doyoung still found a way to leave a bit of him with Johnny. 

\-- 

The doorbell rings when he’s alone at home. 

Johnny pauses in his sip of coffee, the hum of the waffles being reheated in the microwave a soft sound in the background. His parents had decided to take a weekend to themselves, stating that they needed to spend time together that was not the house. _To keep the romance going_ , his father had stated with a straight face while his mother tried to hide her giggles, _we got to rekindle it once in a while and the house is not a very sexy place you know_. Johnny had rolled his eyes, flapped his hand in a dismissing motion before telling them to just go ahead. However, despite his dramatic protests that he could feed himself (he’s an adult, for fuck’s sake), he had woken up to a fridge full of food, coffee already made, and a note from both his parents stuck to the fridge. He might as well make use of the silence, he ponders, to do some work and get some packing done while his mother isn’t filling his time with chores and random tasks.

Maybe it’s a package, but they aren’t delivered so early in the morning. He’s aware that they live on the edges of the suburbs, so mail tends to come to them in the afternoon instead of the mornings. Maybe this Saturday is an exception, maybe there is something special, something a little out of the ordinary. Things don’t usually go according to expectations, he wonders idly. In fact, rarely so, as life tends to take way too many twists and turns for Johnny’s liking. But he’s grown kind of used to it now, or so he thinks. 

He sets his mug of coffee down on the table and reaches for his shirt flung carelessly over one of the chairs at the dinner table. He has a habit of walking around shirtless at home, it _is_ his home after all, but as much as Johnny is confident of his body, he’s not sure if the delivery man will want to be treated to the sight of abs and pecs on display. 

“Coming,” he calls out of habit, despite knowing that his voice won’t reach the front door. They had installed some good noise-cancelling walls a while back, an attempt to protect his neighbours’ ears from that weird drumming gig that his father had picked up a few years ago. Retired people do weird things, he scoffs internally, but he’s not complaining when he can play his music as loud as he wants without anyone complaining about it. 

Johnny tugs the shirt down over his head and reaches for the handle, not bothering to check the peephole. If someone has come to rob him, they will have to deal with him and his brute strength and rudimentary judo skills, which Jaehyun had deemed “enough” in terms of self-defense skills. Speaking of his annoying best friend, Johnny makes a mental reminder in his head to call him out for a meal next week, when Jaehyun is back in Chicago and not sucking Taeyong’s face off in their new apartment in Boston. 

“Morni-” 

No amount of twists and turns in his life have prepared Johnny for _this_. 

The greeting dies on Johnny’s tongue as the door opens. Doyoung stares back at him, a small careful smile on his face, his small black luggage case at his foot, and still as beautiful as when Johnny turned his back on him in his Aston Martin two weeks ago. 

“Hi. It’s been a while.” 

Johnny can’t do anything else but stare. 

It is a dream, he’s sure of it, and Doyoung isn’t standing before him dressed in a simple black shirt and grey jeans, smelling like he just stepped off a plane. Doyoung is supposed to be in New York, getting used to his new life there, meeting new people, and unpacking in his new tiny apartment. He’s not supposed to be here, in front of Johnny, smiling up at him, but with that same look in his eyes when he asked Johnny to fuck him into oblivion with the sun setting in the background. 

“What are you doing here, Doyoung? Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?”

Doyoung shrugs, his teeth sinking into his lower lip, and Johnny recognises it as another one of his nervous ticks. He nearly reaches out, again, out of habit, but barely holds himself back. He’s not sure if Doyoung has noticed, but he doesn’t know what else to say as the younger looks back up at him, the smile completely gone from his face. 

“I wanted to see you, John. I missed you.” 

Johnny wants to cry. 

“I missed you too,” he says into the empty space between them, his fingers trembling into his palm, “I missed you, so much. Every single day, I thought about you. I missed you.” 

Doyoung presses his lips together, and his eyes are wet. “Me too. I thought about you every single day, every single moment, John,” he coughs into his palm, hand covering half his face. “I thought I was the only one. Until I didn’t think. So I got on a plane, and here I am.” 

He’s here, right in front of Johnny, and yet, Johnny can’t move. He just stares at Doyoung, beautiful and lean, the lines of his slender form shaking with exhaustion, and Johnny wonders if it’s all a dream and he will have to wake up soon. 

“I’m here, John,” there are hands settling on the side of his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks in a familiar path, an all-too-familiar comfort. “I’m here, if you will have me.” 

It is purely out of equal parts habit and reflex that Johnny reaches for Doyoung, and he is greeted with the familiar scent of clean linen and citrus mixed in with the stuffy smell that comes from being confined in airplanes on a flight. Doyoung folds into his arms easily, his head fitting perfectly in the crook of Johnny’s neck, his weight warm and welcome against Johnny. 

It is in that moment that Johnny knows that this is _real_. That Doyoung is _here_ , pressed against him, and the collar of his threadbare sleep shirt is wet as Doyoung trembles with silent sobs. His fingers are warm and tight, digging into Johnny’s back, and he is clinging to Johnny like he never wants to let him go. 

“Doyoung.”

His own voice sounds so small, so frail, so filled with wonder. Doyoung just presses closer, his breath hot against the bare skin of Johnny’s neck and repeats the words that make this moment real and present, searing itself into Johnny’s memories. 

“I’m here, John. I’m not going anywhere.” 

\--

It is a recreation of a scene from their time at the lakehouse, Johnny thinks.

Pancakes are replaced with waffles, honey with some organic maple syrup and whipped cream that his mom likes, and it is Johnny’s childhood house in Chicago instead of Doyoung’s family lakehouse in Georgia. Yet, Doyoung is still there beside him at the kitchen counter, his fork chasing after some leftover sliced fruit on Johnny’s plate despite his own plate still containing food. Johnny laughs, free and easy, flowers blooming in his chest, warmth settling comfortably under his skin as Doyoung grins up at him. It is as if two weeks of being apart did not happen, two weeks of pining and missing Doyoung, of wondering if he was ever going to see Doyoung again. 

It is surprisingly easy, Johnny thinks, as Doyoung smiles up at him and reaches to thumb at the corner of his mouth. It comes away smeared with a bit of cream, and Johnny watches in a trance as Doyoung licks it away and returns to picking at the peaches on his plate. 

_Parallels,_ he thinks, remembering the time where he had kissed the spot of honey caught at the corner of Doyoung’s mouth away.

Doyoung catches him staring, the tips of his ears red as he looks away, fork caught in between his lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Johnny shrugs, his own breakfast forgotten in favour of watching how Doyoung’s throat bops with each gulp of water he takes. He’s so effortlessly beautiful in ways that he’s unaware of, Johnny marvels, fingers itching to reach out to rest a palm against the slender column, wanting to stroke his thumb against the sharp plane of Doyoung’s jaw 

“Still can’t believe you’re here.” 

Doyoung’s cheeks colour red in a slow stain, like watercolour spreading across wet paper, and Johnny wants to kiss him so badly. There’s something that’s holding him back, reigning in these little urges, going against that little voice in his head that is telling him to _kiss him now, Johnny. Kiss Doyoung now and hold him and never let him go_. 

“I missed you, Johnny,” the words are loud in the quiet of the house, the mood suddenly a little too somber in contrast to the lightheartedness before. “I can’t believe I’m here either.” 

“Why did you come?” 

Doyoung tilts his head, and there is something like fear in his eyes again, that muscle in his jaw jumping. It is Johnny’s turn to reach out instinctively, cupping Doyoung’s face as his thumb smooths out the thin line of the younger’s lips. Doyoung turns his face ever so slightly, his cheek pressing into Johnny’s palm as his eyes lock on an invisible point on the counter. 

“I told you,” he mutters, his cheeks warm and pink, “I missed you. So I booked a ticket and got on to the next plane to Chicago. Then I took a cab here. I wasn’t expecting for you to be home alone though, nor was I actually expecting to be invited for breakfast.” 

Anyone who didn’t know Doyoung would have thought that he was being rude, ungrateful even, but Johnny _knows_ Doyoung. He sees it, the way Doyoung’s fingers tremble against the fabric of his jeans, the slight waver in the younger’s eyes even as he refuses to look at Johnny, the tensing of his jaw as he prepares himself for the words (read: the foreseeable rejection) that would come out of Johnny’s mouth in response. 

“I missed you too, Doyoung,” Johnny says quietly, cradling Doyoung’s face carefully, trying to ignore how the younger’s words made his heart stutter erratically in his chest. “But I thought you wanted the space, wanted some time for us to get used to being apart.” 

Doyoung shakes his head, nuzzling into Johnny’s palm, and _oh_ the things this simple little action is doing to Johnny’s heart right now. Being apart from Doyoung has only made everything harder, amplified every single reaction his body and his heart has towards everything Doyoung does. It’s both parts painful and blissful, Johnny ponders silently, having Doyoung so close yet so far at the same time. They haven’t kissed yet, despite the repeated words of “I missed you” and the way that they had automatically fallen into each other at Johnny’s doorstep.

There is an unspoken understanding that lingers between the both of them that it isn’t appropriate to go there yet. They need to talk, both of them know just as much, and yet there is a wall of silence between the two of them right here in front of half-empty plates stained with maple syrup and whipped cream. 

It is Doyoung who gathers the courage to break the silence first, his fingers curling into a fist on top of his thigh as he finally looks back up at Johnny. 

“I met someone in New York,” and Johnny’s heart drops into his stomach with a dull twinge of pain. Of course, what was he expecting? It is _Doyoung_ , attractive and beautiful even in his cold guardedness. He tears his hand away from Doyoung’s face, suddenly feeling way too cold even with the heat of Doyoung’s cheek. 

Doyoung catches his hand with a bewildered look, confusion written into all the lines of his face. “It’s not what you think, Johnny. Really. And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m still in love with you.” 

Johnny blinks, and something like hope unfolds where his heart is. It unsticks a little, flutters its wings and adds to the gentle heat that has made itself at home under Johnny’s skin. 

“Oh,” he says faintly, staring at Doyoung’s fingers encircling his wrist. 

Doyoung presses a thumb gently into the spot right above where his wrist meets his hand, the motion firm and unwavering. “Yes, I am still in love with you, John. I love you.” 

_I love you_. The words falling so unabashedly from Doyoung’s lips makes Johnny’s heart tremble in hope, makes him want to say it back, the words perched right on the tip of his tongue. He swallows them down for now, nods back at Doyoung as a sign to continue talking. 

“I met my ex in New York,” Doyoung tells him, his grip around Johnny’s wrist anchoring him to reality as his words float around them in a haze. “Well, not really my ex, I guess. We were never really together. He was my first love though, so maybe in my head I just thought we were properly dating even though all we did was make out and give each other sloppy handjobs and blowjobs in my bedroom at the lakehouse one summer.” 

Johnny doesn’t know how to react to that. “The same bedroom?” 

Doyoung looks away guiltily but his grip around Johnny’s wrist tightens. “Yes.” 

Now Johnny _definitely_ doesn’t know how to react to _that_. He just stares at Doyoung, and there it is again, that quiver in his chest that squeezes a little too tight and chokes his throat up. 

Maybe that’s how heartbreak feels like. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” the words are falling out of Doyoung’s mouth a little too fast, his eyes frantically darting all over Johnny’s face as he speaks. “I didn’t bring you to the lakehouse to replace him, or anything like that. I never even thought of him at all, at any point, when I was with you. I only thought about you, Johnny. How I wanted to kiss you, how I wanted to be held by you, how I just wanted to _be with you_.” 

Johnny doesn’t move. There is a numbness that has overtaken his entire being, Doyoung’s voice echoing in his head as he sits there and lets the other hold his wrist. He doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, doesn’t know how to process the overload of information suddenly pouring out of Doyoung’s mouth. 

“Why did you bring me to the lakehouse, Doyoung? Why did you ask me to fuck you into oblivion as a favour, of all things? Did you know that I was in love with you then? That I would agree to that because of it?” 

Doyoung shakes his head, and there are tears clinging to his eyelashes, Johnny realises. They are perched precariously on his waterline, and Doyoung’s lower lip is quivering as he inhales once, twice. But he looks back up at Johnny, steel in his eyes, but his heart is open, put on display for Johnny as vulnerability etches itself into every curve of his his face. 

“It’s nothing like that,” he says quietly. “It was a selfish wish I wanted to fulfill for myself. That I could have you all to myself, like a lover maybe, in a space that I only had good memories of. I didn’t expect you to agree to the friends-with-benefits agreement, honestly. I just thought that maybe we could have one last vacation together, before we had to part. Before we had to say goodbye to each other and grow apart from each other as time ticks on. One good time, one good memory before I had to move on and forget you.” 

“But then you actually agreed,” Doyoung laughs, and the sound is a little broken, a little shattered. “Then it became more than any dream that I could have wished for. Kissing you, letting you fuck me into the bed, making out with you while waiting for the stew to boil on the stove. It was like we were _actually_ lovers and not just best friends.” 

“When you said those three words, I just, _fuck_.” 

Doyoung tips his head down into his chest, and his hand falls away from Johnny’s. His arms wrap around himself, fingers digging into his arms as he shrinks away. The ache in Johnny’s chest swells, hammers against his ribs, and yet he just sits there numbly, watching as Doyoung exhales deeply three times before he lifts his head up to look Johnny in the eye again. 

There are tears slowly sliding down Doyoung’s cheeks, but he doesn’t look away as he begins speaking again. 

“Of course I said it back. How could I not? Could I really deny my feelings when you were inside me, with me in the most tender way that I could ever imagine? I sort of knew, perhaps, that you did care about me more than our other friends. But never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that you would actually return my feelings, that you would feel the same way that I have for nearly four years now.” 

“Four?” 

The question falls from Johnny’s lips before he even realises it. Doyoung smiles at him, soft and open, illuminated by the brilliant lights of his family kitchen, and Johnny’s heart stutters at how breathtaking he looks. How he looks like he absolutely _belongs_ right there. 

“Yeah, I think I fell for you sometime around mid-sem break of our first semester.” 

Johnny stares back at him. “Why?” 

Doyoung blinks, but his smile doesn’t waver. “How could I not?” 

Johnny doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

“That was before I started dating Ten,” he says instead. 

Doyoung shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Doyoung had been in love with him longer, had fallen for him way earlier before Johnny had started falling in love with him in between dinners in the tiny apartment and weekend trips together. Now Johnny sits before him, this information laid out before him, Doyoung’s heart in his hands as the younger looks at him, open and exposed as he waits for Johnny to reply. 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

Doyoung shakes his head. “You don’t have to say anything, really.”

“If that week felt like a dream,” Johnny doesn’t know where the words are coming from, they are just coming out without going through the filter in his brain at this point. “Then why did you reject me the first time? Why did you say that it wouldn’t work out, that you weren’t enough for me?” 

The younger’s grip around his own arms tightens, fingers sinking into the fabric and creasing it hard. “Because that is the truth. I am not.” 

“Doyoung.” 

Fuck the restraint, fuck that invisible chain wrapped around his limbs and weighing them down. Johnny reaches forward, hands wrapping around the curve of Doyoung’s shoulders as he presses his lips into Doyoung’s hair. He feels the younger tremble under him, but there is something so comforting about being able to touch Doyoung like this, to feel the familiar softness of Doyoung’s dark hair tickling his cheek and know that this is real and not a dream. 

“You _are_ enough. You don’t have to do anything else, you know. You don’t have to tell me your past, or anything that you don’t want to.”

“But I want to.” 

The words are quiet, said into the air between Doyoung’s lips and Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny feels it, the familiar coolness of Doyoung’s fingers wrapping tentatively around his waist as he towers over the younger still seated on a chair. 

“I,” Doyoung inhales quietly, before his head drops forward and his forehead presses into Johnny’s shoulder. Yet another familiar weight, another familiar habit, and Johnny can feel the rest of his control breaking bit by bit as Doyoung lets himself lean into him. “I have a lot on my plate, you know quite a few of them. You know that my parents won’t stop calling me, that my mother won’t stop screaming into my voicemail, that my father insists on asking me to come back to work for his company. I don’t think I’ll ever be enough for them, especially for my mother, since I have become someone that she will never approve of.” 

He pauses for a bit, and Johnny decides _you know what, fuck it_ and wraps his arms fully around Doyoung’s shoulders, letting himself breathe in the familiar smells of clean linen and sharp citrus. Doyoung clings to him tighter, holds onto him like he’s a lifeline in a turbulent ocean. 

“You’re enough for me,” Johnny says into the silence, the ache in his chest long gone, replaced by a serene clarity that wraps around his heart and coats every single word that falls off his tongue. “You have done _so much_ for me, Doie. I don’t think you know the full extent of everything that you have done just by being by my side.” 

Doyoung lets go of his sides to hug him, to tug him closer, and Johnny willingly follows. 

“All I want is to have a future with you, John,” the words are muffled by the fabric of his ratty sleep shirt, but they are clear in Johnny’s ears. “I want what we had at the lakehouse, what we had on the weekends together, what we had on all the late nights spent talking about nothing and everything, all the little moments in between that made me fall for you even more.” 

“I just want to be enough for a future with you, John.” 

“You _are_ , Doie,” Johnny pulls away to reach for Doyoung’s face, to press their foreheads together as the thrum in his chest starts up again, warm and tender and feeling so _right_. “You _are_ enough. I told you before when we were at the lakehouse, and I will tell you as many times as I have to, until you come to believe it yourself.”

“You are enough for me, and I hope that I, too am enough for you.” 

Doyoung laughs, the sound music to Johnny’s ears, and he’s the one who leans up to catch Johnny’s lips in a gentle kiss. It just feels _right_ , Johnny knows, as their lips slot together tenderly and he kisses the seam of Doyoung’s mouth curved up in a smile. They just kiss like this, close-mouthed, chaste, and gentle as Doyoung’s fingers find their way into his hair and Johnny’s other hand finds the curve of Doyoung’s slender waist without even having to look. 

“You’re more than enough for me, John,” Doyoung murmurs against his mouth, his hands settling around Johnny’s neck tenderly, thumbs rubbing small circles into the area behind Johnny’s ears in a way that sends heat spiraling through his veins. “You always have been. With your big heart that keeps on pouring out love, with your constant presence that always stayed, with all the spoken and unspoken promises that you have made with me, with your future that never failed to include me no matter how hard I tried to push you away.” 

It is cheesy, and Johnny knows that future-him will cringe at these words, but he says them anyway. Because it just feels right, like how it always feels like with Doyoung. God, he has been stupid for so long, so focused on his own feelings being unrequited that he has always overlooked how everything has felt so right, so comfortable with Doyoung. He has always thought that it would be so hard, being with someone that potentially didn’t love him back, that he had forgotten that the reality of being around Doyoung is actually just _easy_. 

“You have always been in my future, Doie. If possible, I would like to be in yours too.” 

Doyoung laughs, genuine, open, and unrestrained, and Johnny falls in love again. 

\-- 

“Do you have an old high school jersey lying around?” 

Johnny frowns, but doesn’t stop kissing the column of Doyoung’s throat. “What now?” 

Doyoung giggles, and his skin vibrates under Johnny’s lips. “You know, childhood fantasy. Losing your virginity to your first love in your childhood bedroom after winning a game, them dressed in your jersey with your name and number on the back. Remember?” 

Johnny laughs, but lets Doyoung reach for his shirt and yank it over his head. He leans down to kiss the younger again, propped up on his elbows as he takes Doyoung’s lower lip into his mouth to suck once before pulling away to look at the sight before him. 

Doyoung is absolutely _gorgeous_ like this, he thinks, an image straight out of his wet dreams. He is splayed against Johnny’s sheets, back against the mountain of pillows on the bed as he tilts his head back with his tongue peeking out of his swollen lips. He’s dressed in one of Johnny’s oversized shirts, the bright blue of his tight boxers barely peeking out from under the hem, but it steadily becomes more visible as he pulls a leg up slowly. His hair is still damp from the shower, clean linen and citrus mixed with pine and cedar from Johnny’s own body wash, and he looks like he’s posing for a renaissance painting instead of waiting for Johnny to come back to kiss him senseless again. 

“Nah,” Johnny grins, feeling his chest shake with laughter as Doyoung pouts at him and stretches his arms out towards him. “I think I like you like this. No point thinking about fantasies and dreams when I have you, as you are, right in front of me.” 

The sulky look slides off Doyoung’s face at his words, and there is it again, that unreadable expression in Doyoung’s eyes that Johnny knows all too well now. His head falls to the side, his lower teeth trapped in between his teeth as he watches Johnny for a bit, his arms falling to his side and hitting Johnny’s sheets with a soft thud. 

“And I have you too, right in front of me,” Doyoung marvels, pushing himself off the pillows and reaching for Johnny. The words are so reverent, so fragile, that they slide under Johnny’s skin and make small sparks of ecstasy fire off in bursts in his veins. “You’re here, with me. And you love me.” 

“I do,” the words are so easy to say now, so light yet so loaded with meaning, with love. “I love you, Doyoung. I love you.” 

“I love you,” Doyoung whispers, their words settling into the space between their lips, silent promises of a shared future loaded in the three words repeatedly said in the silence of Johnny’s childhood bedroom. “I love you too, John.” 

Johnny’s hands find their way under Doyoung’s shirt just as Doyoung’s fingers hook into the elastic band of his boxers. There is a convenient bottle of lube in Johnny’s bedside drawer, and Doyoung’s pretty moans are loud and unrestrained in the empty house as he pushes his hips back onto Johnny’s fingers. Somehow, Johnny finds himself pushed against the pillows this time, his back flat against the mattress as Doyoung leans forward to suck on his tongue while his hand works a steady rhythm up and down Johnny’s cock, stiff and red in his grasp. 

“Doie,” he murmurs, hands automatically seeking Doyoung’s waist, wanting to flip their positions so that he can have the younger under him instead. “Doie, come on. Let me up.” 

Doyoung shakes his head, and he swings a leg over to settle himself comfortably so that he is straddling Johnny’s stomach. He is fully erect, cock bobbing gently with precum beading at the tip, and Johnny is strangely entranced by the view. Doyoung likes to keep himself clean-shaven, for hygiene purposes, he had told Johnny off-handedly once. Nothing, however, had prepared Johnny for the actual sight of Doyoung naked before him, splayed across a bed, his dick standing tall against his belly as he watched Johnny climb over him with hooded eyes. _Doyoung has a pretty cock_ , his mind supplies stupidly, even as he reaches out to wrap a hand around the younger’s length and Doyoung hisses into his ear, hands spread out over Johnny’s pecs to support himself. 

“Want this,” he mumbles into Johnny’s jaw, his hips jerking back as Johnny drags his hand over his cock. Johnny thinks he could come like this, his own dick hard and spitting precum, trapped between the soft cheeks of Doyoung’s ass as the younger kisses across his jaw and meets his mouth again in a softer, gentler kiss. “Want you like this.” 

Johnny slides his tongue into Doyoung’s mouth as it opens willingly to him, swallowing the choked sounds coming out from the other’s throat as Doyoung grinds down shallowly, chasing across the shallow pleasure that ripples across his being. “Okay,” he whispers, unsure of when their loud eagerness had simmered down into these hushed exchanges, “just don’t rush yourself.” 

It takes a while for them to get there, both of them unwilling to leave each other’s mouths and tongues unattended. Regardless, Johnny can’t take his eyes off Doyoung as the younger man sinks down slowly on his dick, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, as his body swallows up Johnny’s length inch by inch. His own hand is still around Doyoung’s cock, but he is hardly paying attention to that as Doyoung seats himself down fully with a whimper, cool fingers wrapped tightly around the curve of Johnny’s waist and anchoring them together. 

Doyoung is tight, so _tight_ around him, and he is so goddamned _breathtaking_ like this. Eyes pinched together in pleasure, face screwed up from the effort, and his limbs trembling ever so slightly as he rocks forward, dark fringe damp from a combination of residue water and sweat. Johnny finds himself murmuring the younger’s name, the word falling from his lips like as a prayer as he runs his palms over Doyoung’s thighs and up his waist to his nipples. 

“Doyoung. Oh _gods, Doyoung_. Doyoung. _God._ ” 

A whimper escapes Doyoung’s throat as Johnny tweaks a nipple, one hand releasing his tight grip on Johnny’s waist to cover the hand Johnny has over his pecs. Johnny turns his palm around automatically, lets his fingers slide in between the spaces of Doyoung’s, and lets Doyoung grip his hand tight. 

“Doie, Doyoung, I’m here. Hey, you okay?” 

Doyoung raises his head to look at him, his fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead, and the look in his eyes knocks Johnny’s breath out of his lungs. It is both desperate and hungry, the clashing emotions whirling around in his dark eyes, and Johnny can’t help but reach for him. The sharp curve of Doyoung’s jaw is a comforting weight against his palm, his thumb rubbing across the crimson splattered across the pale cheekbone. Johnny guides Doyoung’s face to him, lets their mouths collide in a gentle kiss, chaste and close-mouthed. A silent assurance to Doyoung that he isn’t going anywhere, that he is here, and he will take whatever Doyoung is willing to give. 

Doyoung kisses him back, slow and hesitant. “Thank you,” he whispers, his fingers trembling against the back of Johnny’s hand, and Johnny kisses him again. All he can taste, all he can feel, and all he can indulge in, is _Doyoung_ , and Doyoung _only_. 

It would be heaven, Johnny thinks, to have this forever - surrounded by Doyoung, face-to-face with a Doyoung who is so vulnerable, but so willing in trusting himself to Johnny’s hands. Doyoung, who takes what he wants, despite his fear that he could possibly lose it in the future, who seeks for Johnny in both the quiet times of turbulent struggles and in the loud lust-fueled trysts in bed where all they wanted was to be connected in the most primal ways possible. 

Doyoung grasps his hands and lifts his hips cautiously before dropping himself back down, a high-pitched moan spilling prettily from his mouth. The drag of his tight velvet insides is delicious against’s Johnny’s cock, hot and sinful without the rubber of the condom separating them, and Johnny’s mind spirals into a blissful high as a ball of pleasure starts gathering in his stomach. 

The slap of skin against skin is lewd and loud in the empty bedroom, interspersed with the whines escaping from Doyoung as he bounces his hips up and down with increasing speed. The grip he has on Johnny’s hands is rigid, strained, like he’s afraid that Johnny will let go of him suddenly and leave him alone on the high of sexual bliss. 

“Doie,” Johnny calls out, the word too fragile, too soft in the whirlwind of lust and passion in the room. He grips the younger’s hands back, tugs gently on them so that Doyoung rocks forward and their foreheads are pressed together. “Slow down, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Doyoung exhales once, his hips shuddering against where they are connected, where he is pressed flush against Johnny’s hips and balls. 

“Just,” Doyoung breathes out, face turning instinctively to nuzzle into Johnny’s palm as he cups the younger’s face. 

“Don’t wanna lose you.” 

_Oh._

The four words are brittle on Doyoung’s tongue, barely audible with the shudder of his throat as he presses his lips to the area right below Johnny’s thumb. Something in Johnny’s chest uncoils at those words, warm and tender, fireworks blooming under his skin and sending sparks of electricity through his heart that made it tip over the limit and go straight into overdrive. 

He has to kiss Doyoung again. So he does that - guides Doyoung with his palm to him so that he can press their mouths together tenderly, his other hand reaching out rub gentle circles into the slender curve of Doyoung’s waist as the younger quivers against him. It is out of desperation, he realises, out of fear, as Doyoung is here now, pressed against him, open and unguarded, all his walls down in the hopes that his feelings would be conveyed to Johnny in this precious moment shared between them right now. 

“You have me, Doyoung,” he finds himself saying, as he pushes dark hair out of Doyoung’s face to look him in the eyes, hoping that his own feelings will reach Doyoung with his words as well. “You have me, as long as you want, baby. And I have you, of course. I am here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Doyoung is beautiful, he thinks, his brain suspended in a state of bliss and love, as the younger looks down at him. His trembling lips pressed together, fragile, but firm, and there is _relief_ in Doyoung’s eyes even as he dips down to seal their lips together again. 

“Thank you.” 

_I love you_. The three words go unspoken between the two of them this time. 

They both know now, Johnny realises. There never had been a need for them to say it out loud, even if it was initially bit back out of fear, out of insecurity. But it suits them, Johnny thinks, even as he reverses their positions and pulls Doyoung closer against him, swallowing the moan straight off Doyoung’s tongue as his cock hits that spot inside of the younger. 

“I love you.” 

He says it still, against the curve of Doyoung’s shoulder as they stand under the shower in his bathroom, warm water cascading down their naked bodies. Doyoung just smiles, small but _peaceful_ , and it makes Johnny’s heart thrum in bliss seeing the younger so happy in his arms. 

“I love you too.” 

Doyoung whispers it into the pulse in his neck, like it’s a secret, and Johnny is _happy_.

This is how love feels like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: determined to make use of the E rating one more time, proceeds to lose my mind over how to write sex 
> 
> (tmi, but when tswift sings 'give me something that will haunt me when you're not around' in sparks fly, thats the line that inspired the role of the penguin plushie in this fic)


	12. break habits just to fall in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas :3 
> 
> suggested music for this chapter is [one direction's strong](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9JiW1UrLiBo) and [florence + the machine's all this and heaven too](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNE2meQCI-Q)
> 
> merry merry christmas <3 take care everybody, and i hope you are spending time with your loved ones <3
> 
> (this chapter is for you [livs](https://twitter.com/seokuns) <3)

The sound that comes out of his mother’s mouth when she sees Doyoung standing in their family kitchen is music to Johnny’s ears. 

She had immediately dropped her bags to wrap the younger in her arms tightly despite Doyoung’s protests about the pot still boiling on the stove. Johnny doesn’t quite hear the exact words that she is speaking, too enraptured by the sight of Doyoung smiling widely down at her as he lets her fuss over him and squeeze his face in her hands. It’s a sight that he has witnessed before, this trip not being Doyoung’s first, but this is the first time that he feels so satisfied taking it all in. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder, turns around to see his dad watching him carefully, an unspoken question in the older man’s eyes. 

Johnny doesn’t exactly know what his father is asking, but he nods in response. It just feels right, the most appropriate gesture to convey the situation at hand without divulging too much. It would be unfair, he thinks, for him to open his mouth and spill all the details without Doyoung’s consent, when they haven’t done much but indulge in each other the entire weekend. 

They didn’t have sex again after that one time, fueled by the intense high of emotions from missing each other and finally laying bare all of themselves for the other. The image of Doyoung looking down at him, eyes wide and shiny, all of his walls pulled down as he let himself fall into Johnny’s hands, literally and figuratively - is burnt into the back of Johnny’s eyelids permanently. Doyoung, who had only let bits and pieces of himself slip through in the stolen moments of time they had made with each other on the many weekend trips, during the entire week at the lakehouse, had let Johnny touch him, kiss him, and _love_ him without abandon. 

He catches Doyoung looking at him sometimes, like the morning after when he had decided to make breakfast for once. _You’re still jet lagged,_ he had insisted, manhandling Doyoung into a chair at the counter and pointedly trying to dodge the kisses being peppered to his jaw, aimed as an attack to distract him. In the end, Doyoung had given up and let him make bacon and scrambled eggs, drawing random patterns into the marble countertop while watching Johnny navigate his process over the stove. 

_(“Why are you looking at me like that?”_

_Doyoung shrugs, the tip of his right index finger trapped in between his teeth, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smile as his eyes rake over the expanse of Johnny’s naked chest._

_“Mhmm, appreciating the view, I guess.”_

_Johnny grins, and he deliberately flexes the muscles of his arms and his abs as he picks up two plates laden with food. He slides them across the counter and leans across to catch Doyoung’s mouth in a quick kiss, his heart jumping as he feels the younger smile against his lips._

_“Stop it, I’ll be embarrassed,” he teases as he pulls away, reaching for the coffee machine. Doyoung laughs behind him, disbelieving, but carefree, and he can’t help the flush that rises to his cheeks and tints his ears._

_“People check you out all the time, I hardly believe that you’ll be embarrassed just by me looking at you,” Doyoung sighs, cheek pressed into a balled fist as Johnny sets two mugs beside their plates with the required cutlery. The younger’s words only make the heat grow in his cheeks, and Johnny pointedly keeps his eyes on the table even if he pulls one of the other seats closer to where Doyoung is._

_“You’re different,” he murmurs into his coffee. He’s sure that if Doyoung had a hand on his chest now, right over his heart, it would give him away with the way that it is pounding against his ribs._

_He’s not lying. Doyoung_ is _different. He always had been. And Johnny’s sure he would_ always _be different, the right kind of different that Johnny would always chase after even in another universe. One where they had another divergent plot with how their relationship began and evolved following alternative events in that strain of time._

_Doyoung rests a hand against his neck, thumb stroking gently along his jaw. The look in his eyes makes Johnny’s heart twist in the most tender, the warmest way that just renders him speechless._

_“Still can’t believe you’re real. That_ this _is real.”_

_Johnny shakes his head, reaching for Doyoung’s hand to pull it up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss against the younger’s knuckles. “I should be the one saying that. You were the one who flew here to see me. Honestly, I thought you were a fever dream, that I was hallucinating, because I just missed you so much.”_

_Doyoung’s eyes are wet, but he lets Johnny lace their fingers together as he reaches for his own coffee. “Can’t believe that you love me too.”_

_Johnny watches him sip from the mug, face still slightly swollen from sleep, and there is a soft tinkle of metal against metal as their matching bracelets collide when he grips Doyoung’s hand just a bit tighter._

_Doyoung’s words from the morning before echo in his head._

_How could I not?)_

Johnny’s father smiles back at him, small and quiet. He gestures for Johnny to pick up his mother’s abandoned bags before sliding past him to say hi to Doyoung himself. Johnny just watches them, his parents with Doyoung, his head filled with the good kind of fogginess that comes with equal parts disbelief and happiness.

He can’t believe _this_ is real. 

\-- 

“So the two of you...made up?”

It is Johnny’s mother who asks the question at the dinner table. Doyoung had just finished serving all the food, their bowls topped with steaming white rice, the house filled with mouth-watering smells of _kimchi jiggae_ with soft tofu. Johnny had been helping himself to the side dishes, picking at radish _kimchi_ and dried anchovies while his mother cooed over the spread that Doyoung had been working on since morning. 

Johnny doesn’t know how to answer her question. 

Doyoung’s hand falls on his thigh, a reassuring anchor, as the younger picks up the ladle to dish out individual servings of the stew. 

“We didn’t fight,” he answers for the both of them, thumb pressing carefully into the side of Johnny’s thigh in a silent message. _Trust me,_ it said. “We just had to work some things out, think about it for a while. It took some time.” 

Johnny notices that Doyoung stops there. He doesn’t say that _it’s fine now, don’t worry_. Instead, he just smiles at Johnny’s parents, and ladles some seafood and soup into their bowls. 

“Sorry that made you worry about me, auntie.” 

Johnny’s mother shakes her head, her lips curving into a small smile as she dips a spoonful of rice into her soup. “No, it’s alright, Doyoung-ah. I shouldn’t have pried, that’s between the two of you. Sorry I asked.” 

Doyoung shakes his head as he carefully slides some clams into Johnny’s bowl. “No, it’s okay, auntie. I’m just glad that I got to see you again before I start work, you and uncle.” 

Johnny’s father nods, swallowing down his mouthful of food before he reaches for some blanched greens. “It’s good to see you too, Doyoung-ah.” 

Johnny feels the heat of tears prick at the back of his eyeballs as he reaches to cover Doyoung’s hand with his own. He squeezes it gently, letting himself indulge in one last long look at the younger’s side profile as Doyoung turns back to his own meal and his hand falls from Johnny’s thigh. 

He’s _beautiful_ , Johnny muses yet again, his heart jumping into his throat, as he blinks back his tears and busies his hands with the task of unpeeling prawns instead. Doyoung is so _so_ beautiful, with his dark hair and his pale skin, sitting at the same dinner table as Johnny and his parents, listening attentively as his mother recounts an incident at the mall dramatically. He finds himself following the line of Doyoung’s throat with his eyes as the younger throws his head back in laughter, eyes curled into tight crescents, his gummy smile wide and sincere as he refills his father’s bowl. 

Something in Johnny’s chest clenches, and while it doesn’t hurt as much as before, he can’t deny the slight twinge. Faint, but still there, hidden under the bliss that had been occupying his entire being since the day Doyoung turned up on the doorstep of his childhood house. 

He wants _this_ , he realises. 

He wants it to be permanent.

\--

“I think we should talk.” 

He didn’t mean for it to sound so serious, or so dramatic, but the words come out just like that. Doyoung doesn’t seem surprised or scared, instead merely humming in response as he stands up from where he had been hunched over Johnny’s new mattress. 

“Alright.” 

They are both standing in Johnny’s new apartment in Chicago, just a thirty-minute drive away from his family house. Johnny had completely forgotten that most of his new furniture was being delivered today, until his phone rang while he was doing the dishes with his mother. Doyoung had helped him get some clothes and necessities into two large suitcases within record time (bless him and his Type-A personality and inclination for organisation, really) and here they are, making some minor adjustments to where the movers had arranged the furniture under Doyoung’s strict commands. 

Doyoung drops into Johnny’s new office chair, the protective plastic crumpled in a ball and stuffed into an open box. He spins around once before stopping to face Johnny, his fingers clasped together with his elbows resting on the arms, and nods thoughtfully. 

“Comfy. Good for working at home.” 

Johnny sits down tentatively on the bed, feeling the plastic crumple under his weight. He doesn’t know where to start, honestly, but at this point no words feel absolutely right or appropriate to address their situation at hand. 

So he inhales deeply, once, and lets his heart take the reins. 

“Where do we go from here, Doie?” 

Doyoung stares at him, eyes somber and soft, and pulls his lips in together. He watches Johnny for a while, twisting and untwisting his fingers as he does so, and Johnny has to clench his fist to physically hold himself back from reaching out for the younger’s hands. The crinkle of the plastic is too loud in the empty room, still too bare to be lived in, still a little too big for one person, in his opinion. 

Doyoung looks like he belongs here in Johnny’s new apartment, despite it being barely furnished, the smell of paint still fresh in the air. Johnny sees it, sees the matching mugs on the kitchen rack, Doyoung’s hoodies hung up beside his own, two toothbrushes in the mug above the bathroom sink. 

He can see it, the image of Doyoung wrapped up in his sheets, dark hair splayed across the cool gray of his pillowcase, the younger reaching up to pull him into bed. It makes his blood thrum in his veins, warm and excited, but there is that underlying fear that wraps around the part of his head running away with the fantasy and yanks it back, hard. 

_Fuck._ It is so _easy_ imagining Doyoung in his future; he doesn’t know what his apartment will look like without traces of Doyoung. The thought is both parts blissful and terrifying, and right now, the fear is seeping under his skin, clashing with the fuzzy feelings occupying his head, and Johnny doesn’t know how to deal with it. 

He is pulled out of his thoughts when Doyoung takes his hand into both his own, his fingers cool against Johnny’s skin as he opens his mouth.

“I wasn’t lying, when I said I want a future with you, John,” Doyoung’s voice is soft, fragile in the silence of the apartment. He rubs a circle into the back of Johnny’s hand gently with a thumb, his lips tight and small in a smile. “I just want to be enough for you, even with the distance between us, even though we are both just starting out in our careers. Even if we don’t have enough time for each other, or even enough time to think about how things will work out for us in the future, I still want a future with you in it. Preferably, a future _with_ you.” 

There is a small huff that escapes between Doyoung’ teeth, the sound resigned, yet hopeful. He turns Johnny’s hand up, fingers tracing gently across the lines in Johnny’s palm, and Johnny just watches him quietly, sensing that the younger still has some things to say. 

“I was so _lonely_ in New York, John. _Fuck._ ” Doyoung squeezes his eyes shut for a second before exhaling tightly and opening them again. “I felt so stupid, asking for distance, when I just wanted to tell you everything and ask you to come to see me. But I couldn’t, I can’t ask you to do it, when you gave me the space I asked for so graciously, when you promised me that everything would be alright regardless.” 

“I was so scared, really,” Doyoung looks up at him, and there are tears sitting unshed on his waterline, like the younger is physically willing them not to fall. “I couldn’t imagine my life, my future without _you_ in it. I don’t even know when I had begun to think that way. I thought I was okay with it, living with my unrequited feelings for you, just being a friend to you. For the longest time, I truly _believed_ that I was okay with it - being best friends with you, and nothing more.” 

“But then, in New York, all I could think about was you,” he looks away, his fingers trembling against Johnny’s palm even as the words come out of him with shuddering breaths. “I thought about you, with me in New York, kissing me silly against my tiny balcony. I thought about being here with you, in Chicago, driving with you to the mall and kissing you while we wait for our Starbucks orders. I thought about all these things, thought about texting you like we promised each other, being there for all the important milestones in our lives and careers.” 

“And I wanted _all_ of them. _All_ _of it_. I don’t want us to grow apart, like I told myself that I would be okay with when we moved away from Connecticut. _What is the point?_ I thought, having good things in my life, if I didn’t get to share them with you? If I couldn’t call you the moment I got the news, or if I couldn’t kiss you in response to you telling me that you got a promotion at work?” 

Doyoung looks back at him, tears sliding slowly down his face, and Johnny reaches out to wipe them away without thinking. He cradles the younger’s face gently, his other hand wrapping around Doyoung’s and squeezing gently, a wordless gesture of assurance. 

Something in Johnny’s chest unfolds with every word falling from Doyoung’s mouth, the ball of emotions that had been previously so tangled up suddenly unraveling itself. It disentangles itself carefully, transforming into little pinpricks of warmth that dance under his skin as he realises that his image of the future matches up with Doyoung’s. One where they shared everything and nothing with each other, where they had space in their apartments for each other despite the miles in between them. A future, where even if they had to be physically apart for a while, that would be shared by them, with many small promises and plans made in the process of growing together even as they threw themselves into their careers and lives. 

A future, where regardless of the ups and downs in life, they had each other. 

“It scared me how _badly_ I wanted it,” Doyoung murmurs, clutching onto Johnny’s hand like it was a lifeline. “I have never fallen for someone like this before. I had never experienced happiness like this - quiet, assuring, but so exciting at the same time. I want everything with you, John, but I also want to _do_ everything with you.” 

“Doyoung,” his own words are equally soft, and Johnny marvels at how vulnerable, but safe Doyoung makes him feel. The doubt that had lingered in his mind is now gone, and he kind of wants to laugh at how he had been so insecure. It is _Doyoung_ , for fuck’s sake. Doyoung, who has always trusted him, who has seen the most vulnerable parts of Johnny and has stood by him without being overly condescending or sensitive. Doyoung, who has celebrated his highs with him in the quietest ways that still made him feel special, who has pushed him to go for the things that he wants and held his hand on the nights when the process has been exceptionally hard. 

How could he have been so _stupid_ , to actually _doubt_ Doyoung, when the younger is sitting in front of him now? When he had gotten on a plane to come see Johnny, to reach out for him and to be open about how scared he is, about the emotions that had eaten him up on the inside. 

It’s just the two of them in front of each other in this moment, hearts raw and open. Yet, Johnny feels just safe, like it’s just _right_. 

“Doyoung,” he repeats the younger’s name again, and there is something hot sliding down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care. “Doyoung, I thought about what I wanted to say to you when we met again when we were apart. I wanted to be able to to articulate my feelings properly, to convince you that what I feel for you goes beyond just sex and the friendship that we have built up in the four years. I thought, if I could say the words to you, I could also convince myself that it is a risk worth taking - that I could enter into a long-distance relationship without the insecurity and jealousy gnawing at me and consuming me from the inside out.” 

“But you,” he coughs wetly, his body shaking with the action, and he feels Doyoung’s fingers tremble in his grasp. “You said it all, what was in my head. You were always better with words, between the both of us. But, never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that your words would completely capture _everything_ in my head - all the emotions I feel and all the ridiculous daydreams that I have had just looking at you, just having you by my side.” 

“I want to do _everything_ with _you_ , Doie,” he whispers, finding Doyoung’s face through the blurry vision caused by the tears falling freely down his face. “I know we both have things we need to work on, and my insecurities and tendency to be unnecessarily mistrustful is one of them. But, _fuck,_ I _want_ to work on it, because I _know_ that you, who has always been so guarded and so closed off, are taking an even bigger risk by entrusting your heart and your feelings to me.” 

Doyoung is clambering into his lap and taking his face between his hands, mouth kissing away the tears on Johnny’s cheeks, and Johnny thinks that it is a miracle how they fit together so _easily_. Just like _that_. Then Doyoung is covering his mouth with his, kissing him slow and sweet as his hand is a comforting weight against Johnny’s neck, tilting his face up so that they can kiss deeper with their tongues sliding against each other as their mouths part. 

“We are both so _stupid_ ,” Doyoung mutters against his mouth, his forehead pressed against Johnny’s. Johnny laughs quietly at that, his hands wrapping around Doyoung’s waist to pull the younger closer against him as Doyoung’s arms slide over his shoulders and long fingers snake into his hair. 

“We are,” he agrees, kissing Doyoung softly again. “But hey, we can learn to _not_ be stupid from now on, hmm?” 

Doyoung nods, his chest shaking gently with a small laugh as he pulls away to bury his face against Johnny’s neck. 

“Yeah, we can learn not to be stupid together.” 

_Together_. The word makes Johnny’s heart _soar_. 

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice too loud in the quiet apartment, like it would shatter the dream that he is living right now with Doyoung in his arms. 

Doyoung hums against his neck. 

“I love you.” 

Doyoung stretches up to kiss him again, their mouths meeting in the softest way, but the younger’s grip on his shoulder is firm as he stares into Johnny’s eyes with pink dusted across the high points of his cheeks. 

“I love you.” 

The words are loud and clear, and Johnny knows this isn’t a dream, or a fantasy. 

It is reality. They are going towards the future _together_. 

\-- 

“No, put that _back_.” 

Johnny waggles his eyebrows, but doesn’t let go of the plant until it is settled snugly into the corner of the shopping cart. Behind the handles, Doyoung raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, refusing to move even as Johnny starts backing away down the aisle. 

“ _Johnny_ ,” Doyoung tries again, sighing heavily as he realises that Johnny isn’t going to stop moving. “You don’t know how to take care of plants. I don’t even know why you’re buying a fucking _money plant_ to put in your apartment.”

“You have always been the one with the green thumb,” Johnny responds, grinning eagerly at Doyoung as the younger starts following him with the cart. “Guess you’ll have to come down to Chicago sometimes to take care of it then. You know, to make sure I don’t become a plant murderer.” 

Doyoung scoffs, throwing a small bag of fertiliser and a spray bottle into the cart. He stops to examine some small succulents, prompting Johnny to backtrack and come to his side. Johnny wraps an arm around his waist, silently amazed still by how easily they fit against each other as Doyoung leans into him and lets him press a kiss into dark hair. 

“Can’t believe I’m dating a potential plant murderer.” 

_Oh._

Johnny buries his face into Doyoung’s hair and inhales softly, uncaring of the fact that they are in a plant nursery and there are people milling around them. His heart is trembling in his chest, stuttering so eagerly against his ribs that he feels like Doyoung can definitely tell, even through the layers of their denim jackets. He feels so basic, like a giddy teenager in love for the first time, hearing the words that had left Doyoung’s mouth. 

“Didn’t remember agreeing to date you,” he says instead into Doyoung’s hair, and he knows that the younger man can feel his grin as he speaks. 

“Don’t be a little shit, John,” Doyoung replies, barely unfazed even as he turns a small succulent around in his hands, unprotesting as Johnny tugs him closer to kiss his temple. “You need to make sure your plant survives. How else are you going to make sure that happens unless you're dating a houseplant specialist?” 

“I don’t know,” Johnny grins, following Doyoung as the younger puts the pot back onto the shelf. He takes the handle of the cart, knocking his hip against Doyoung’s as they stroll leisurely down the aisle framed with plants and leafy greens. “I already have one as my boyfriend, so.” 

Doyoung stops so abruptly that Johnny almost regrets saying the words. The younger man turns to look up at him, the features of his delicate face arranged into an expression that Johnny recognises as wonder as he stares wordlessly back at Doyoung for a bit. 

“What?” 

Doyoung blinks, his lips pulling up in a soft smile as he leans up to press his lips to Johnny’s. 

“I’m your boyfriend.” 

Johnny cocks an eyebrow, his chest warm at the soft sight of Doyoung lacing his fingers in between Johnny’s over the handle as he nudges the cart forward again. “I mean, I don’t know what else to call you. Do you have any preferences? Boo? Bae? Manfriend?” 

“Like I said, don’t be a little shit, _boyfriend_ ,” Doyoung snaps as he stops them to look at some pots, his cheeks flushed with pink even as he doesn’t let go of Johnny’s hand. “Or I _will_ reconsider this relationship and let you become a plant murderer.” 

The plastic wrap is torn off the new mattress in Johnny’s apartment, replaced instead with new grey sheets from IKEA, and more pillows are added to the headboard. Johnny settles himself comfortably against the pile, his hand searching for his phone automatically as Doyoung fusses over his new plant in the corner, mumbling to himself softly as he adjusts it. 

Johnny opens up his camera app and snaps a picture without thinking. 

“You make me look like a plant-obsessed maniac,” Doyoung points out when he sees the picture, climbing into bed and easily tucking himself against Johnny’s side. 

“Who cares,” Johnny replies, watching the younger gather the sheets around them, Doyoung’s laptop open on the end with Netflix on a window. “Not like I’m going to show this picture to anyone. It’s for my eyes only, to motivate myself to not be a plant murderer.” 

“God, you’re so cheesy,” Doyoung grumbles, pulling the laptop towards them. “I already regret calling you my boyfriend.” 

Johnny laughs, and leans forward to attach his mouth to Doyoung’s pulse where it throbs in his neck, enjoying the shudder of his _boyfriend’s_ skin under his lips. 

“Too late, no refunds.” 

Doyoung rolls his eyes, but he wraps his arm around Johnny’s waist as the first episode of _Hotel del Luna_ starts playing on the screen, fingers tracing across the ridges of Johnny’s abs in a way that makes heat pool in his stomach. 

“Not like I would want a refund for real anyways.” 

IU in elaborate costumes and hairdos can wait, Johnny decides, as he leans down to coax Doyoung’s mouth open, his hand finding the laptop and slamming it shut. He kisses the protests on Doyoung’s tongue away, somehow managing to maneuver the laptop onto the floor without it falling down while also trapping Doyoung between him and the headboard of his new bed. The more pressing issue, to him (and Johnny Jr.) right now, his brain supplies, is the opportunity to break in his new bed when Doyoung is still in Chicago, before New York and work steals him away for at least a few months. 

Doyoung giggles into his mouth, and the gray penguin plushie is the only witness to the christening of Johnny’s new bed from where it is tucked behind the pillows.

\-- 

“Hey, Facetime me when you’re back in your apartment in New York. You owe me a virtual tour over video.” 

Doyoung nods, swinging their hands together as they walk down the wide hallways of O’Hare International Airport. His small suitcase follows them on their heels, the handle clasped loosely in Doyoung’s other hand as Johnny walks him to the immigration for interstate flights. 

The plastic bag is heavy in Johnny’s own hand, even though the contents are light. He had gotten the gift on impulse while Doyoung had been in the toilet, suddenly overcome with the urge after seeing it on display in a shop near him. 

He wonders if Doyoung will like it. 

The airport is empty, people barely scattered around the halls due to the late night. Johnny had insisted that Doyoung book an earlier flight, but the younger had refused, his cheeks red and flushed from the aftermath of his orgasm as he sprawled across Johnny’s sheets and typed his debit card number into the payment page with his brows furrowed together. 

_Wanna spend more time with you_ , he had muttered as he opened up his email to get the electronic itinerary. Johnny remembers staring at him, riveted by the smattering of pink and purple across Doyoung’s back, his own cheeks hot as he processed the words. Then, he had proceeded to slam Doyoung’s laptop shut _again,_ this time not caring about setting the device safely on the floor before he proceeded to make out with the younger until their stomachs growled, reminding them that they had basic needs other than kissing and sex. 

They stop right in front of the entrance of the boarding gates, and Doyoung turns to look at him for a bit. Even under the harsh white lights of the airport, with his hair messy and unstyled, Doyoung still looks breathtaking, his lips pressed together shakily as he takes in Johnny, eyes roving reverently across Johnny’s face like he was memorising every single part. 

Johnny tugs on their joined hands, leans forward to kiss Doyoung’s forehead softly. 

“Thank you, for giving us a chance at this.” 

Doyoung shakes his head, but lets Johnny keep his lips pressed against his skin. “Thank _you_ , for agreeing to let me have a chance at this. For reminding me that sometimes, habits have to be broken to make way for new habits.” 

Habits as friends, broken so that new habits could be formed, habits borne out of a relationship is was more than just simple friendship, redefined as lovers. New habits that come with the distance between them, with old promises that had been renewed with a different drive, a different purpose, with a different kind of relationship that is steadily growing between them. 

To Johnny, their new relationship isn’t really a sprout. It’s already a plant, a young one, like the one sitting in the corner of his new apartment in Chicago. It had already started growing back then in the second year of university together, when he had started spending more nights in Doyoung’s apartment rather than his own room, when two toothbrushes and two mugs had become a common sight, a familiar anchor. Their relationship had already been growing since then, back then even when they had both refused to acknowledge the boundaries that had been blurred with the promises of a shared future spoken into the space between them, all the time during the weekend trips, in the motels that they shared a bed in. 

New habits, new definitions, but Johnny is no longer scared of these unfamiliar things. 

He holds up the plastic bag, watches as Doyoung takes it with a questioning brow cocked in response and opens it to peer at the contents. 

“A belated housewarming gift.” 

Doyoung stares back at him, his tongue peeking out between his lips, and Johnny sees the moment where the thought of _fuck it_ just goes off in the younger’s head before Doyoung is kissing him hard. Close-mouthed, but passionate, his arms coming up to wrap around Johnny’s neck even as Johnny catches him by the waist and kisses him back. 

“I,’ Doyoung breathes, as he pulls away, his eyes wide with wonder even as they refuse to take their hands off each other. “John, you know this isn’t _just_ a housewarming gift.” 

Johnny shrugs, aware that his own ears and cheeks are flushed. “You left a part of yourself with me, you know, with the penguin plushie that you refused to pack. Think of it as me leaving a part of me with you.” 

_An unspoken promise that he would be there in New York for the holidays at the end of the year, that he would be there for Doyoung whenever the younger needed him. A small part of his heart, a simple physical manifestation of his feelings, a reminder (for Doyoung, but also for him) that they had agreed to try for each other, regardless of the many obstacles that lie between them and the scary future that was just beginning to open up for them post-graduation._

Doyoung beams at him, gummy smile on full display, and Johnny leans forward to seal their mouths even as the airport announcement calls for the passengers for Doyoung’s flight to start heading towards the boarding gate. 

“Thank you.”

The words are soft, but clear in Johnny’s ears, as Doyoung says them against his lips. There are any meanings balled up, collected in the two simple words - promises, gratitude, reverence, reluctance, but there is also _love_. 

“I miss you already,” Johnny whispers back. 

“Me too,” Doyoung murmurs, kissing him sweetly again before pulling away. He smiles at Johnny, soft and content even as their fingers fall away from each other. Doyoung reaches for the handle of his suitcase again, and Johnny can’t help but say the words again like a broken record, his heart so full and yet so content despite the reality of them having to be physically apart again. 

“Doyoung, I love you.”

Doyoung tilts his head to one side, and he just looks so _ravishing_ like this, glasses on his face, dressed in ratty jeans with an oversized hoodie with messy hair while standing in the middle of the airport. There are no tears to be shed, despite his imminent departure. Instead, there is hope, serenity, and promises made in the darkness of Johnny’s new bedroom, fragility of what-ifs replaced with the placidity of their commitment to each other, to the new relationship that they have agreed to begin with each other even as they start on a new chapter of their lives. 

_A new chapter together_. 

“I love you too, John.” 

Johnny thinks about two mugs in Doyoung’s kitchen in New York. One red, one blue; an illustration of the skyline of Chicago wrapped around the lower half in white. 

_Best ten dollars he has ever spent at an airport_ , he thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aha chapter count updated cause /fingerguns/ epilogue :)
> 
> some visuals for this chapter [here](https://twitter.com/i/status/1312287803896721408), [here](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EexMg4kUEAEy57P?format=jpg&name=small), and [here](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EnQwCUiXcAAQwij?format=jpg&name=small)


	13. epilogue: as i'm older there is more at stake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic and chapter titles are all lyrics taken from the songs on [neon tree's 2010 album, habits](https://open.spotify.com/album/6oZ5iDw1LT25svEK0g5OqT?si=4BFZrUmIRemMUL_Mw7WKNg). the title (also the title of the epilogue) is specifically from the song [sins of my youth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2YFbycystY)
> 
> :D here we go :D

Johnny wonders how he’s going to break the news to Doyoung. 

As the plane lands on the ground in a _thump_ and starts decreasing speed down the runaway, he realises that he hasn’t thought this through. It had sounded easy enough, simple enough in his head when he was still waiting to board his flight back in Chicago. Telling Doyoung things has never been particularly hard - regardless of whether it was a promotion, a struggle at work, or just a bad day in general. Doyoung always listens patiently, talks Johnny through all the options and the bad emotions, and the video calls always leave him feeling better, even if it was just a little bit because everything took place through screens. 

Physically being away from Doyoung really _sucks_ , even if it is easier than what the both of them had expected. 

It has been two years now, he marvels, as the plane comes to a stop and the passengers around him stand up in a relentless flurry to get their bags from the overhead compartments. Johnny reaches for his phone, swipes it up to turn off airplane mode, and just waits for the plane to start emptying itself of passengers before he reaches for his own luggage. 

Two years of a long-distance relationship. Doyoung in New York, Johnny in Chicago. 

They had both gotten promotions and a few pay-raises, celebrated Christmas twice together, had birthday celebrations in both New York and Chicago. Two years of Johnny kissing Doyoung in bed as _Happy New Year_ screams and fireworks go off outside Doyoung’s apartment, both of them giggling breathlessly into each other’s mouths amidst the din. The darkness of Doyoung’s bedroom being lit up occasionally by the bright colourful lights from outside, catching the sharp planes of Doyoung’s face, the gentle upturn of his mouth as he smiles and leans up to seal their lips together again and again. 

Some days were hard, if Johnny is completely honest. Some nights were spent in the office at the museum, his phone locked in a drawer as he pored over curatorial concepts and installation layouts. Some days, Doyoung had snapped at him, irritable and tired from all-nighters pulled in the office during auditing season, and the calls always ended with something ugly unfurling inside of Johnny, poison barely contained on the tip of his tongue. 

Somehow, it all worked out. They always found it in themselves to apologise, to recognise that work is hard, that being apart is hard, that regardless of how easily it came to them - being in a long-distance relationship is _hard_. Yet, they still had each other, still always thought of each other, even on the nights where Johnny’s heart feels like it is made out of glass, that it would shatter while trembling from the fear, from the possibility that Doyoung might decide to end the relationship with the next call. 

The call never comes. Instead, Doyoung tells him _I love you_ , quietly into Johnny’s ears, his voice soothing through the earbuds, and they say sorry to each other. A quiet promise to move on from mistakes, to learn from them and to not let old demons consume their heads to the point of breaking what they already have with each other. 

Of course Johnny says it back. _I love you_. _I’m sorry. I love you._

He knows he should have maybe told Doyoung immediately when he had gotten the news over video call. But it just didn’t seem right. It needed to be said to his boyfriend’s face, Johnny had decided. 

So here he is, stepping through interstate immigration with his body on autopilot, his eyes immediately searching for Doyoung in the arrival hall. He finds him easily enough, dark black hair over steel-rimmed glasses, and Johnny folds into Doyoung’s arms automatically. Doyoung sighs, holds him close, and kisses his cheek gently in greeting as Johnny wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s tiny waist and pulls him closer. 

The box in the pocket of Johnny’s coat is heavier than it should be. 

\-- 

“Doie, I need to tell you something.” 

Doyoung is tapping away on his ipad, glasses sliding down his nose as he furrows his brows at some statistic on the screen. Johnny is freshly showered, dressed in clean clothes, and he hopes that the younger hasn’t noticed the visible bulge in the back pocket of his sweatpants. 

“Doie.” 

His boyfriend looks up from the tablet, locking the screen as he sets it aside. He stares carefully up at Johnny, lower lip trapped between his teeth, and gestures for Johnny to sit down beside him on the couch. Johnny sinks down into the familiar fabric, digs his fingers into a cushion, and stares at Doyoung with all the words choked up in a jumble in his throat. 

Doyoung opens his mouth first. 

“I also need to tell you something, John.” 

Johnny exhales, and he can feel his fingers trembling on the couch. It’s now or never, he thinks. Better to be honest, it’s _always_ better to be honest with Doyoung, he tells himself. The younger has always been honest with him, open and straightforward about his feelings, even if he feels uncomfortable talking about them. He understands Doyoung’s anxiety, sees it in the way his boyfriend’s lips quiver and how he refuses to look at Johnny - a knee-jerk reaction, uneasy and unsure of the extent and validity of the emotions tumbling around in his head and chest. 

It is only fair that Johnny has to be as honest as well. So he takes the plunge. 

“I’ll go first,” he swallows down the lump in his throat, reaches out to take Doyoung’s hands in his own. The younger grips his fingers back, tight and secure. _I’m here_ , is the unspoken message, as Johnny steels himself, prepares the words in his head and releases them into the space between them. 

“I got an offer for a senior curator position in Seoul. At the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art.” 

Doyoung blinks back at him, eyes wide, mouth parting in surprise before he closes it and stares back at Johnny. 

“They are willing to pay for my Masters at Seoul National University,” Johnny says, aware of how Doyoung’s fingers are trembling lightly in his grasp. “In return, I will have to serve the position with them for a minimum of three years - in addition to the projected one to two years that my Masters Programme will take.” 

“That’s,” Doyoung breathes, his eyes wide and excited, as he clutches at Johnny’s hands. “That’s fucking _amazing_ , John. _Oh my god._ ” 

“It is,” he admits. It is an opportunity that is too good to be true, honestly. For once, Johnny’s fluency in Korean is of use, and on top of the promotion and the position at one of the most prestigious museums in Korea, he does not have to fork out a single cent for his postgraduate Master’s degree.

“Wow,” Doyoung whispers, and Johnny’s heart somersaults at the way that he is looking at him. Eyes round and wide with amazement, with reverence, with _pride_. “Wow, you deserve it, totally. I’m definitely sure of that, with all the work that you have done for the past two years. But still, _wow_. This is just, fucking, _amazing_.”

“I’m so proud of you, what the _fuck_?” 

Johnny laughs wetly, his arms suddenly full of Doyoung as his boyfriend barrels into his lap and his mouth is covered in a hard kiss. 

“Doyoung,” he murmurs against his boyfriend’s lips, his fingers tight on the curve of Doyoung’s waist. “Baby, you know what this means, right?” 

Doyoung pulls away, his hands resting gently on Johnny’s shoulders. He tilts his head to the side in an unspoken question, nodding at Johnny to continue. 

Something inside Johnny twists even as the words load on the tip of his tongue - a mixture of guilt, sadness, acceptance. He thinks about the increased distance, the larger time difference, the more expensive plane tickets, and there it is - the remorse of leaving Doyoung behind pooling in his stomach. 

“It means that I’m leaving America. That the distance between us will increase, with the timezones, with me being in a completely different continent. Are you okay with that?” 

Doyoung stares at him for a bit, his face a little closed off, and his gaze shifts to a point on Johnny’s shoulder instead. He stares at the spot for a while, fingers playing with stray threads of Johnny’s ratty sleep shirt, and Johnny is actually _afraid_ of the words that will come out of the younger’s mouth. 

“What if,” Doyoung seems to be testing the words out carefully, his eyes flickering up to meet Johnny’s gaze again, his tone measured and slow. “What if, I told you that, the distance between us won’t increase? Instead, it will only decrease.” 

Johnny’s heart nearly stops in his chest. He digs his fingers into Doyoung’s waist, something trembling inside him in _hope_ , the excitement of the _possibility_ proposed by Doyoung bubbling in his chest, as he stares back at his boyfriend in disbelief. 

“What are you trying to say, Doie?”

Doyoung licks his lips, and Johnny’s brain nearly goes off on a tangent at the sight of his pink tongue darting out, but he forces himself to concentrate. The younger grins up at him, fingers toying with the damp strands of hair at the nape of his neck, as he slowly speaks again. 

“What if, I told you that, I _also_ got a job offer. One at the Seoul Branch of Milliman Korea?” 

Johnny’s brain just stops functioning. 

“What?” 

The word is soft, fragile, hanging in the silence of Doyoung’s living room. Doyoung sighs, but his face is fond and he is smiling, just a soft turn of his mouth as he cradles Johnny’s face with his left hand and rubs a thumb over a cheekbone. 

“It means, we are moving to Seoul together, John.” 

The bubbling in Johnny’s cheek overflows, pops off the cap, and there is something like an euphoric high hurtling through his veins as the words register in his head. He blinks back at his boyfriend, still seated snugly on his lap, thumb stroking gently over his face as the younger waits for him to process the words that had just rolled off his tongue. 

“Oh my _god_. We are going to Seoul, _together_.” 

Doyoung laughs, and the sound is music - exasperated but fond, and too entirely _Doyoung_. 

“Yes, dummy. God, I thought you were smarter than this.” 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Johnny breathes, too drunk on this life-changing, _literally_ , revelation to object to his boyfriend indirectly calling him stupid, despite the fond tone. “ _Oh my god_.” 

He has no other words, no other thoughts, so Johnny surges forward to kiss Doyoung, pressing his boyfriend against the couch as the younger huffs into his mouth. 

“Wow,” he manages, pulling away for a bit, riveted by the way that Doyoung’s lips are slightly puffy from the make-out session, how his glasses are slightly askew.

“What are the fucking _chances_?” 

Doyoung laughs again, and he guides Johnny back down a kiss with a gentle hand on his cheek. Softer, sweeter, shorter this time. “Really, what are the fucking chances?” 

Johnny shakes his head, his eyes suddenly wet, and reaches around for the box in his back pocket. It doesn’t seem so heavy now that he isn’t going to Seoul alone. They are going _together_ \- the thought so surreal, so impossible, yet their future together in Seoul is so tangible that it makes him want to _cry_. 

“I bought us rings,” he says, his voice trembling with the effort of holding back his tears as he puts the box into Doyoung’s hand. “They are supposed to be promise rings, a physical symbol of my promise to you - that I will do my best to be with you, to be present in this relationship, to put in my best efforts in communicating and loving you despite the distance and the time difference between us. I bought them the day I decided that I was going to take the offer, because I know that you would never forgive me if I turned it down purely for the sake of staying in the same country with you.”

Doyoung nods, and his own eyes are shiny as he carefully lifts the cover of the small box. “You’re right, I would have. You would have been even stupider to turn it down, really.” 

“Yeah,” Johnny laughs, watching as the younger lifts the contents out of the box. They are nothing too elaborate or too flashy - just two simple bands of silver with a thin line of amethyst running around the outside edge. “I could hear your voice in my head, you know. _Stupid John, love is not an excuse to hold yourself back from a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!_ ”

“I do _not_ sound like that,” Doyoung complains, but there is no bite in his voice as he stares at the two rings in his fingers, a mixture of wonder and disbelief smattered across his face in small splotches of pink on his cheeks. “But yes, I would have said that.” 

Johnny barks out another laugh as he reaches to take one of the rings from his boyfriend, his other hand finding Doyoung’s left hand automatically. “Man, I really planned a whole dramatic confession, with these promise rings and all. But they are kind of useless now, huh?” 

Doyoung’s brows knit together in confusion as he watches Johnny press a soft kiss to his knuckles. “No they aren’t. They are still promise rings, right?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny is captivated by how the ring fits so perfectly on Doyoung’s left ring finger, sliding delicately along his long digit to nestle snugly against the younger’s knuckle. He leans to brush his lips against the metal, lingering for a bit over it as he sneaks a look up at his boyfriend’s face. 

“A new kind of promise, that’s all.”

Doyoung nods, and there is love written into every line, every part of his face as he stares down at Johnny. The sight makes flowers bloom and fireworks go off in Johnny’s chest, even as the younger shakes his head and reaches for Johnny’s hand to put the matching ring on his own finger with trembling hands. 

“A new kind of promise.” 

“Hey, Doyoung?” 

Doyoung hums in response, threading their fingers together and raising them to the light, eyes fixed on how their matching bands line up, how the silver and amethyst catches the light with each movement. 

“I want to marry you someday.”

Doyoung’s head falls back against the couch, black hair spreading like ink against the dark grey of the soft fabric as he looks back at Johnny. He looks just straight-up beautiful like this, his face open and soft, and Johnny should probably find more words to describe how his boyfriend is the most gorgeous person on earth, but he thinks _beautiful_ is still the most apt. 

“Me too, John. I want to marry you too.” 

There has never been more at stake in the imminent future ahead, with plans to move to a new country, with new jobs ahead, and a new promise spoken into the spaces between their lips. 

Yet Johnny doesn’t feel scared. Not all all. He just wants to kiss Doyoung again. 

So he does just that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is. the end. :D
> 
> warning: long sappy message ahead - 
> 
> thank you all of you who have clicked on this fic, decided to give it a chance, and read all 66k words of this, left a comment, a kudo, or a bookmark. honestly, reading all your lovely, wonderful, kind words in my email, all the essays, all your reactions, never failed to brighten my day up. thank you for bearing with me not replying your comments, but now that the fic is completed, i will respond to them :D 
> 
> honestly, i never expected this fic to hit more than 1k hits, or more than 200 kudos, so looking at the stats is always a surreal moment to me - that people cared enough to like this, bookmark this, and even reread the chapters while waiting for an update. i am endlessly grateful to all of you, but also especially to the lovely admins of [hourly johndo](https://twitter.com/johndohourly) and [johndofest](https://twitter.com/johndofest) for putting my work on a recc thread. it is the main reason that this work even got so much attention in the first place - i cannot thank all of you enough for the increased interaction and stats for this work <3 also, for feeding us with johndo things <3 
> 
> to [lore](https://twitter.com/doyoungandten), [yanny](https://twitter.com/yooodles) and [marie](https://twitter.com/kawaii_mokona), thank you for always taking the time to leave your comments, for telling me your thoughts on twitter. i love all comments, but your words always stood out to me. thank you for taking the effort to comment on the chapters <3 i hope this fic lived up to your expectations. 
> 
> to [kei](https://twitter.com/_nkei_), thank you also for your lovely lovely words, but also your constant encouragement in the DMs, and also just listening to me ramble about johndo in general. you are a role model, and also a friend to me, and your galaxy brain just amazes me. thank you for always encouraging me to write, and validating my efforts and reminding me to take pride in my work. 
> 
> to [adri](https://twitter.com/_doyoungho), the only other person who has access to the doc, but chooses to come and leave comments anyways, thank you for being the constant driving force that drove me to finish this fic. i would say more, you already know what i will say so :3 ily 
> 
> lastly, to the person who started it all, the person who gave me the prompt that began the wild journey that cumulated in this fic that came to be titled _more at stake_. to [lily](https://twitter.com/ao3parayeet), thank you for putting me on this journey, for always encouraging me to write, for thanking me for my words, and most of all, for setting me for a challenge that i have somehow managed to overcome. never in my wildest dreams would i imagined that i could 1) start a multichaptered fic, 2) managed to finish it, and 3) learn how to write smut in the midst of all the words that just came out of my brain in the process of trying to string together johnny and doyoung's relationship in these thirteen chapters. it was a weirdly cathartic process, the writing - in trying to navigate my own anxieties and insecurities whilst also doing my best to make sure that the entire relationship and individual struggles that the both of them faced were relatable and didn't feel too distant. writing this pushed me beyond my comfort zone - both as a writer and as a person. thank you, so much, for allowing me to write this. 
> 
> thank you, to all of you, readers and friends, who have decided to give this work a chance, who have followed it and left so many lovely and kind words. thank you for sticking with it, reading it, and finishing it <3 no amount of words i type will be able to express the gratitude i have for every single one of you <3 
> 
> till next time :D 
> 
> \- p 
> 
> (p.s. come talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/_doively) about johndo :D let's be friends :D )

**Author's Note:**

> (・_・)ノ
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/_doively) / [cc](https://curiouscat.me/doivelyz)


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